Les Étrangers
by Gamma Orionis
Summary: In a society that sets such stock in purity, the slightest example of unseemly behaviour could ruin everything. But avoiding such behaviour could ruin everything as well.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes: The first 10K of this fic were originally written for queer_bigbang on LiveJournal, but it has continued and will undoubtably continue to continue.

Warnings: Contains incest of many varieties (including explicit sibling, non-explicit mother/son and off-screen father/daughter), sexual assault (female on male, male on female, and male on male, with varying degrees of non-explicitness), arranged marriages, fantastic racism, violence against people and animals, and a good deal of other things that will probably warrant a trip to the Confessional just for reading about them.

Additional disclaimer: Opinions expressed by characters within this story are those of the characters expressing them and are not indicative of my own opinions or beliefs.

)O(

_1970_

Dress robes did not suit Rabastan.

Rodolphus wore the requisite flowing velvet well, tall and hearty enough not to be overwhelmed, but Rabastan's identical robes – which he was forced into any time there was a formal event – overpowered him entirely, making his small, frail frame look even smaller and frailer.

"I don't want to go to the party," he told Rodolphus as he stared at himself in the mirror. At sixteen years old, he thought he not only looked particularly weak and overwhelmed in the robes, but also incredibly silly. They might have at least been _cute_ on a child, and could pass for handsome on an adult, but for a skinny, awkward teenager…

Though he supposed he was lucky that the Lestranges were more minimalist in their choices for dress than the Malfoys, at least. Poor Lucius, being perpetually forced into those frilled silver silk monstrosities… at least it was _possible_ for a boy to look decent in dark velvet.

"No one wants to go to the party," Rodolphus said.

"Mother and Father do."

"No, they don't," Rodolphus told him, with an air of great wisdom. "They just pretend they want to because there are other Purebloods there and if the Lestranges don't turn up to the parties with all the best Purebloods, we won't be respected."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Boys!" their mother called in a fluttery, high-pitched voice. "It's time to go! Come down, darlings!"

Rabastan scowled. "Is she going to talk like that all evening?"

"You mean will she call us 'darlings'? Yes." Rodolphus opened the door and led Rabastan down the sweeping marble staircase of Lestrange Manor. "Now, remember to be polite. And as long as Mother and Father are watching, don't talk to anyone if they don't talk to you first."

"What about Lucius? And Andromeda?"

"Even Lucius and Andromeda."

"But they're our _friends_."

"Not tonight." Rodolphus stopped and looked his brother straight in the eye. "Listen," he said, "nothing that happens at this party has anything to do with us. It's just about Mother and Father and the other adults. All we're supposed to do is sit there and look all nice and neat and presentable when they see us. Like dolls. Which is why we have to wear dress robes," Rodolphus added, smirking a little at their clothes. "Once they go off with their friends and stop paying attention to us, we can probably do whatever we want."

"Rodolphus, Rabastan, come out right now!" Their father's voice was a good deal louder and stronger than their mother's. "We'll be late if we don't go soon! Do you two _want_ the Blacks to think that we do not appreciate their invitation?"

"Come on," Rodolphus muttered, and the two boys hurried down the stairs, standing before their parents for inspection.

"Don't they look lovely, dear?" crooned their mother.

Maria Lestrange was soft and petite – quite a bit shorter than Rodolphus, though still taller than Rabastan. Her deep red hair was set in delicate curls and pulled into a knot, with just a few perfect ringlets hanging down to frame her face. Her large, sea-green eyes flitted between her sons and she had a small, slightly forced smile on her lips. She bent down to smooth Rabastan's hair and he only just managed to stop himself wrinkling his nose – the scent of her perfume was overwhelming.

Joseph took his wife's arm, pulling he upright. "They look fine," he said curtly, barely glancing at them. This did not surprise Rabastan in the least – his father was not the sort to lavish attention or compliments on his sons – or anyone, for that matter, barring Maria herself. He was a tall, stern, rather heavyset man, and Rabastan didn't think he had ever seen him smile. Not that he had seen him enough, really, to judge this…

Maria took her husband's arm, fluttering her eyelashes, then reached out to touch Rodolphus's hand. Rodolphus gripped her wrist firmly, and wrapped his arm around Rabastan's shoulders, and the four of them disapparated in a _swoosh_ of air.

Much as Rabastan preferred to keep his distance from people at parties – especially those thrown by the Blacks – he did rather like Black Manor. The ballroom – which was always the centre of activity, it seemed – was lavishly decorated, with gilt moulding on the walls and a huge crystal chandelier hanging from the high ceiling.

Most of the other families seemed to have already arrived and everyone was either milling around, talking seriously, or dancing. They twirled around the ballroom floor to the sound of violins playing Beethoven of their own accord.

"Maria, Joseph!"

Rabastan and Rodolphus looked up simultaneously to see Druella Black hurrying over to them. She had her usual too-sweet smile plastered on her face as she and Maria exchanged kisses on the cheeks, then she turned to look at Rodolphus and Rabastan.

Rabastan shrank back against his brother. He disliked Druella – she was far too sweet and simpering to be interesting, but the way she said things, he could never quite tell whether her words were a subtle jab. Besides, he thought, she treated them like they were about six.

"Rodolphus Lestrange, how you've grown since I last saw you!" she crooned. "Why, how old are you now? Fifteen?"

"Nineteen," Rodolphus said flatly.

Druella let out another simpering giggle. "Nineteen years old! Why, you don't look it! You must be looking for a bride, then?"

"Not particularly," Rodolphus muttered, but only Rabastan heard him because Druella had already moved on to fawning over him. Rabastan gripped his brother's hand as hard as he could and tried not to inhale too much of the floral scent that hung around Druella even more strongly than Maria's perfume did around her.

He noticed Druella frown a little for just a moment, her eyes flicking down to where Rodolphus and Rabastan's hands entwined, but then she hitched her saccharine smile back onto her face.

"So, if Rodolphus is nineteen, you must be… sixteen?" she guessed. "No, that can't be right, you don't look _nearly_ old enough to be sixteen. Twelve?"

"No. Sixteen," Rabastan told her. _I do _not_ look that young_, he thought furiously, but said nothing.

"Oh, that's right…" Druella seemed to have lost interest now that the guessing game of ages was over, for she straightened and took Maria's arm. "Maria, darling,all us girls are up in the parlour, you _must_ come join us."

"Go on," Joseph told his wife. He had already spotted Cygnus Black and Abraxas Malfoy deep in discussion on the other side of the room and seemed eager to join in. Maria followed Druella off up the stairs, and Joseph made his way across the room to the other men, leaving Rodolphus and Rabastan to almost get trampled by a dancing couple.

"Come on," Rodolphus muttered, taking his brother's hand and leading him towards the chairs on the side of the room where the other sons and daughters who had been dragged to the party were sitting, all looking intensely bored.

Andromeda and Narcissa Black, in starched lacy dresses identical except that Narcissa's was white and Andromeda's green, were talking quietly, and Andromeda looked up when Rodolphus and Rabastan approached, a little grin on her lips.

"Good," she said. "Cissy and I were just saying we wondered when you'd get here."

"Why?" Rodolphus asked warily.

"Because I said we should play a game, since there's no one here worth dancing with who isn't already taken…" She looked over her shoulder to where Bellatrix Black was swirling around the dance floor with some man.

"What sort of game?" Rabastan asked warily. Andromeda wasn't quite as wicked in her tastes as Bellatrix, perhaps, but she would still be quite capable of coming up with horrendously twisted games if she put her mind to it, he was sure. He didn't much fancy the game ending with some sort of punishment…

"Cissy was thinking of hide-and-go-seek…"

"Aren't we a little old for that?" Rodolphus asked impatiently, echoing Rabastan's thoughts.

"Not the way we play it. You boys might want to go in teams…"

"Is 'the way you play it' a way that Bellatrix thought up?" Rabastan asked.

Andromeda smirked a little. "Maybe. But it's our house, so you have to do what we want. Whoever gets caught last… wins a prize." Rabastan could swear she was looking at him as she said that. "You four have five minutes to hide anywhere in the house."

"This is stupid," Lucius grumbled, but he stood up anyway, and started for the door, Narcissa on his heels. Andromeda turned away to watch the clock. "Four minutes and fifty seconds!"

"Come on," Rodolphus said, taking Rabastan's hand and pulling him quickly towards the door. "Let's go."

"She patronizes us more than her mother does," Rabastan muttered, but he made for the door too.

He and Rodolphus started upstairs, trying to get away from the crush of the party before their time was up. Rodolphus had just practically dragged Rabastan up the fourth flight of stairs when they heard voices. They were far away from the ballroom that it couldn't possibly be any noise of the party. Rodolphus stood still, listening, then turned to Rabastan and whispered, "It's Mum."

Rabastan assumed that was the end of it and started down the corridor again, but Rodolphus yanked him back, indicating a slightly open door. "Let's listen."

"Why?"

"Just because."

The two of them crept silently towards the doorway, Rodolphus obviously curious about what was being discussed, and Rabastan following his brother's lead.

Druella was the one speaking now, and for once, her voice did not sound sickeningly sugary. There was a strange, stern undertone to it that Rabastan would not have thought possible of oh-so-sweet Druella.

"It is unseemly," she was saying, "for any two young people to spend so much time in each others' company."

"That is utter nonsense, Druella." Maria's voice was high and shrill as she let out a very forced laugh. "They are brothers, and so young! There is nothing unseemly about such young boys spending time in each others' presence…"

"Nevertheless…"

"I seem to recall, Maria," Elisabeth Malfoy put in, in the maddeningly superior voice that seemed to come naturally to all the Malfoys, "that you have made no small number of comments about the 'unseemly' behaviour of Druella's own daughters. Surely if you can say that it is inappropriate for Bellatrix and Andromeda to be… close, Druella can say the same of Rodolphus and Rabastan."

Rabastan looked, confused, at his brother, who was watching the group of women with great intensity.

"It is not the same thing," Maria said, her cheeks flooding with colour.

"Yes, I rather believe it _is_ the same thing," Druella snapped. "So unless you can come up with a very good argument as to why the behaviour of my daughters should be called inappropriate and that of your sons should not…"

"Everyone knows that Bellatrix and Andromeda are–"

"Oh, stop this," said Walburga, apparently losing patience with the gossip and chatter. "This fighting is ridiculous. There is nothing wrong with either pair, I can assure you. They are just children. If this behaviour were among adults, I would wholeheartedly support correcting it, but when the youngest is only fifteen years old, I fail to see anything bothersome. I've no doubt that both pairs will grow into proper young gentlemen and ladies before long, and there shall be no more talk of unseemly behaviour."

"I think we can fight our own battles, Walburga," Maria said sharply. "This is not your place to intervene. Nor yours, for that matter, Elisabeth. No one is accusing _your_ children of–"

"Of what, exactly, Maria?" Druella cooed. "You do seem awfully eager to convince us that your boys are not…"

"Maria," Walburga said abruptly, "do go see if the men are still discussing politics, and try to get them to stop before there's a fight downstairs as well, won't you?"

Rodolphus grabbed Rabastan's arm and pulled him away, running down the corridor and turning the corner before their mother could catch sight of them, and running straight into Andromeda.

Andromeda's face fell. "You two weren't even trying!" she accused.

"Oh, shut up, Andi, you've still got to find Narcissa and Lucius," Rodolphus told her, looking worriedly at Rabastan, who was clutching his side, winded by even the short run.

Andromeda rolled her eyes and turned away, stamping back down the stairs. Rabastan resolved to worry later about why she was so annoyed.

"What- were they talking about?" he panted. "What did they mean- 'unseemly'?"

"That means they think we're not behaving properly," said Rodolphus

"I know what 'unseemly' _means_," Rabastan informed him. "But why? We didn't do anything wrong."

"I know," Rodolphus said. "They just think we're…"

"We're what?"

Rodolphus was silent for a long time, then let out a sigh. "They think that we spend too much time together. They think that we should spend more time with the other children."

"We do. We're playing a game with Narcissa and Andromeda and Lucius right now. I don't want to spend any more time with them."

"Neither do I," Rodolphus said patiently. "But that's why they think that we're being unseemly. They think that it's not proper for any two people to only want to spend time with each other."

"Why?" Rabastan asked.

There was another long moment in which Rodolphus was silent, then he sighed again, shrugging his shoulders as best he could within the confines of his dress robes.

"I don't know," he said.

Rabastan did not press the matter, though he was sure from the expression on Rodolphus's face – even more grim than usual – that his brother had some very good idea of why their parents thought their behaviour unseemly.

Rodolphus seemed to close off from Rabastan after that, losing himself in thought. This was not unusual, but Rabastan was rather insulted. Rodolphus drifted off into the party, and a while later, Rabastan caught sight of him dancing with Bellatrix, which did nothing to improve his mood.

He, Rabastan, took a seat, watching his brother weave in and out of the other couples on the dance floor, talking to Bellatrix with an expression of intense seriousness on his face. Rabastan amused himself briefly by trying to guess what they could be discussing, but quickly lost interest and lost himself in his own thoughts.

Unseemly behaviour… something that the women believed he and Rodolphus did that Bellatrix and Andromeda also did…

A few years ago, Rabastan would have assumed from Walburga's insistence that it would be more serious a problem if they were older that the women were referring to some less-than-dignified behaviour – running, dancing, playing games – but Bellatrix was the very _picture_ of dignity these days, and Rodolphus rarely behaved like a child. There was Andromeda's ill-fated idea of hide-and-go-seek, but surely they couldn't have known about that…

And so Rabastan sat and stewed and ignored offers to dance until finally the clock struck midnight and people began to filter out.

He did not look at his mother as the four Lestranges made their exit, and though he tried to catch Rodolphus's eye, Rodolphus kept his head turned resolutely away and disappeared to his bedroom when they arrived home without saying a single word to Rabastan.


	2. Chapter 2

Rabastan knocked on his brother's door early the next morning. He had found it impossible to sleep, and stayed up all night wondering what the women had been talking about. He hadn't dared to leave his bedroom to go talk to Rodolphus, but it had been long enough – surely now that Rodolphus had had the whole night to think or worry or whatever it was that he had been doing, he would be willing to speak to his brother.

But there was no answer to Rabastan's knock. Not even the sound of movement, and though Rabastan pressed his ear against the door, he could not hear so much as his brother breathing.

"Rod?" he whispered. "Are you awake?"

"Why, Rabastan, what are you doing up so early?"

Rabastan jumped at the sound of his mother's voice and whirled around quickly, inclining his head. "Nothing, Mother. Only seeing if Rodolphus was awake yet."

Maria let out a shrill little laugh. "Why, Rabastan, it's scarcely dawn, and we were out all night… you should still be asleep, darling."

"You're up."

She laughed again, waving her hand lightly through the air. "I only got up to go get a Bloody Mary… I must learn not to drink champagne, it gives me a horrible headache, but what can I do… it would be horribly impolite to refuse drinks at a party…"

"Are you feeling ill, Mother?" Rabastan asked carefully. He knew from experience that when Maria was hung over – or "ill" as she insisted she was, because, she insisted, she never drank nearly enough to get drunk - she became an absolute terror, and near enough impossible to live with.

"Oh, no, not too terribly ill… just a little dizzy," she said lightly. "Why don't you come down to the kitchens with me, I'll have the house-elves make you breakfast."

"Thank you, mother, but I'm not very hungry…"

"Nonsense, darling. You need to eat better, you're ever so terribly skinny…" She looked down at him with a critical eye, and Rabastan felt his cheeks burn. He felt like a child again, just as he had when Druella had been examining him, but now he didn't even have his brother's company or his hand to hold.

"Yes, Mother," he murmured, following her as she swept downstairs and into the basement kitchens, snapping her fingers at the house-elves.

"A Bloody Mary," she said. "For me. And some breakfast for Rabastan – eggs, bacon…"

"Mother, I don't eat bacon," Rabastan said, but she ignored him.

"And… perhaps some pumpkin juice. Proper food, you know."

Rabastan refrained from saying that Maria should not be lecturing him on proper food when she rarely ate anything but fine fowl dishes and fruit. If Rodolphus had been there, he would have given his hand a little squeeze and rolled his eyes slightly and whispered it in his ear, but Rodolphus was not there, so Rabastan just looked down at the table and vowed to tell his brother about this later.

"Hurry up!" Maria snapped. "We haven't got all day, you know!" She snapped her fingers again, and the house-elf hurried to mix her drink and set it in front of her, bowing slightly.

"Apologies, Mistress Lestrange," it murmured, quickly setting a pan on the stove to begin Rabastan's breakfast.

Maria let out a long-suffering sigh. "Foolish creatures… but I suppose it is not really their fault that they are so vile… they must be born that way." She took a sip of her drink and sighed again, sounding satisfied this time. "It must be such a horrible burden to be so weak and worthless… house-elves should be glad that there are Wizards to give them purpose." She spoke loudly, so the house-elf could hear.

"Of course they should, Mother," Rabastan agreed absently, trying not to gag at the scent of frying bacon in the air. Maria, of course, did not even begin to notice her son's discomfort, nor, presumably, did she care.

The two sat in silence for some moments, Maria sipping delicately at her drink and Rabastan fighting to keep his churning stomach down, and then he finally said, "Mother, why did Druella Black think that Rodolphus and I were acting improperly?"

Maria choked on her drink. "P- Pardon?" she managed, coughing. "What did you say?"

"I asked why Druella Black thought that Rodolphus and I were acting improperly," Rabastan repeated. "Was it because we were playing a game? It was Andromeda's idea…"

"A game? No, no, it wasn't anything like that… When did you hear Druella talking about you?"

"At the party last night."

A flush was rising in Maria's cheeks. "Oh… no, darling, it isn't anything that you should worry yourself over. Druella is only trying to distract us from her own daughters' impropriety."

"Bellatrix–"

"We'll not say any more about it, darling," Maria told him. "It's nothing for you to worry about. Now, do have some breakfast."

"But Mother, I don't–"

He broke off, feeling ill as the house-elf set a plate in front of him. Bacon and eggs were piled high on it, slick and steaming and enough to make him want to vomit.

"Go on and eat, dear," Maria said airily, sipping her Bloody Mary. "And promise me you won't worry yourself about what Druella Black says anymore."

"Yes, Mother," Rabastan murmured. He forced himself to dig his fork into the mound of eggs and take a bite, trying not to gag at the flavour of pig fat. He wished desperately that his mother would leave so that he could throw out the food, but she sat there quite calmly, sipping her drink and gazing into space.

Rabastan forced down the whole plate of food, then stood up quickly. Maria didn't even notice as he bolted from the kitchen, dashed up the stairs and collapsed over the toilet, heaving the contents of his stomach up into it.

"Rab?"

Rodolphus was standing in the doorway, and Rabastan felt tears of shame prickle his eyes.

"You're sick…"

"No." Rabastan wiped his mouth on his sleeve, shaking his head a little. "I'm fine."

"Come off it." His brother joined him on the tiled floor, kneeling beside him and rubbing his back gently.

"I just… Mother made me eat and I didn't want to… I'm fine…"

"Oh." Rodolphus's face went even more serious than it had been before. "Rabastan… you're not…"

"It's not like I'm throwing up everything I eat," Rabastan said quickly. "It was just the bacon. It made me sick. That's all." The words had barely left his mouth when his stomach heaved again and he bent over the toilet, vomiting up acid that burned his tongue and throat.

Rodolphus sighed, waiting until his brother had finished before he wet a washcloth and wiped his face gently. "I don't like seeing you sick," he murmured.

"I'm not sick."

"Well, I like seeing you vomit when you're not sick even less."

Rabastan sighed, resting his head on Rodolphus's shoulder. "I want to go back to bed."

"So go to bed."

"Come with me."

Rodolphus gave his brother a sharp look, but he helped him up, half-carrying him to his bedroom. Rabastan was frail and thin, and he was grateful for his brother's help. Rodolphus perched on the edge of the bed, squeezing Rabastan's hand gently.

For a while they sat still, then Rodolphus said, very quietly, "Rab… Mother and Father want me to get married."

"_What_?" Rabastan sat bolt upright, his eyes going wide. "Why? Since when?"

"For a while now. Rab… I'm nineteen, I need to start looking for a wife. And you do too."

"No, I don't!" Rabastan cried. "Mother said last night– I'm not even done Hogwarts!"

"You don't have to get married yet." Rodolphus gripped his brother's arm, trying to calm him. "You just need to start thinking about it. What about Andromeda Black? Mother and Father would be thrilled…"

"I don't want to get married! Don't tell me that you do!"

"I don't, but I need to. Rab… it's not about what we _want_ to do. We _have_ to. It's only proper."

"Who do you think you're going to marry?" Rabastan asked in a very small voice.

Rodolphus sighed. "I don't know. Mother and Father think Bellatrix Black…"

Hot tears spilled down Rabastan's cheeks in spite of his best efforts. "I don't want you to get married. I want you to stay with me." He grabbed his brother's hand. "Rod, no one's going to want to marry me, and you're going to go off with Bellatrix and I'm going to be left here all alone…" His voice was rising in pitch and he sounded hysterical, even to himself, but he couldn't calm down.

"Rab." Rodolphus's voice was firm and commanding as always. "You're not going to have any trouble at all finding a wife. I promise."

"What makes you think that?" Rabastan demanded.

Rodolphus's lips twitched, and he leaned in a little, stroking Rabastan's hair back. "Don't you know you're beautiful, Rab?"

His breath caught and a flush rose in his cheeks. "What?"

"Well, anyone can see it." Rabastan fancied he saw a slight colouring in his brother's face as well, but he could have been wrong. "Believe me, there are plenty of girls who would be thrilled to marry you."

Rabastan looked down at the ground, a small smile on his lips. "Really?"

"Of course." Rodolphus's voice was softer and lower than Rabastan had ever heard it. "If you could see… you'd understand…"

"Understand what?"

Rodolphus sighed and stood up. "You need sleep," he told him, starting for the door.

Rabastan sank back into his pillows, but persisted. "Understand _what_?"

Rodolphus was almost at the door when he turned back.

"Why they'd want you," he said, then left, shutting the door behind him.

At least, Rabastan _thought_ that was what his brother had said – "why they'd want you". He had spoken quietly, and it had _almost_ sounded more like "Why I'd want you." But that couldn't be it, of course. Rabastan's ears must have been playing tricks on him.

He turned onto his side and shut his eyes and tried to push away thoughts of marriage.

And thoughts of his brother.


	3. Chapter 3

Rabastan did not leave his room all day. He lay in bed, blankets wrapped around him in a tight cocoon, drifting between fitful sleep and brooding about what Rodolphus had said about marriage. Maria and Rodolphus had the decency not to disturb him for lunch – or perhaps they simply could not be bothered, he thought – and Rabastan was left in merciful peace until suppertime came. He listened to his mother's airy calls with every intention of ignoring them, feeling a rush of relief when they ceased, only to hear his brother's footsteps outside the room a moment later.

"Rab," Rodolphus said, pushing the door open gently. "Mother's been calling. It's suppertime, you know."

"I don't care," Rabastan said flatly. "I want to stay in bed. I'm not hungry."

"What's wrong?" asked Rodolphus. He moved over and sat on the edge of Rabastan's bed, pulling the blankets back a little so he could look at his brother. "Is this about me getting married?"

"No," Rabastan lied, but his voice cracked a little and he sniffed, his chin beginning to wobble.

"Christ, Rab…" Rodolphus reached over and took Rabastan's hand, squeezing it tightly. His fingers felt warm and solid, and Rabastan managed to muster a small smile at his brother's touch. "Listen… I don't want this to turn into a fight. Mother and Father won't exactly take kindly to you sulking about it, you know."

"I'm not sulking," Rabastan objected, but that sounded petulant and childish.

"Don't give me that, Rab. You and I both know it's not true."

Rabastan pulled his pillow over his head. "Go away, Rod. Tell Mother and Father that I'm ill."

"Rab…"

"I said to go away!"

"Do you think you could try not to act like a six-year-old for a few hours?" Rodolphus asked, his voice suddenly turning sharp. "What is it about me getting married bothers you so much anyhow? What's upsetting you about it? Is it that it means that you're finally going to have to start thinking about marriage too? Or are you just jealous because you know eventually there's going to be someone else who I love?"

Rabastan seethed. "Do you really think I'm that pathetic?" he demanded from under his covers. "You think I'd be jealous of _Bellatrix_? Of _any_ woman?"

"Well, when you're acting like this, you _do_ come off pretty bloody pathetic, which you would know if you _listened_ to yourself."

Rabastan said nothing.

"Just come down for dinner," Rodolphus said at last, sighing. "Mother and Father are waiting, and you're not going to change anything by going hungry."

Rabastan bit his tongue to stop himself protesting, clenched his fists in his sheets to stop himself hitting, and sat up, pushing the blankets off. His shirt clung to his skin, sweaty from being curled under thick covers for so long. He glanced quickly in the mirror, then stormed out, not looking at his brother.

Maria and Joseph were already at the dinner table.

"Are you all right, darling?" Maria asked, false concern all over her pretty face. "We were worried about you."

"No you weren't," Rabastan said under his breath, quietly enough that they would not hear.

"The boy's fine, Maria," Joseph said dismissively. "There's no need to baby him. He's not a child anymore."

_No, I'm not._

Rabastan kept his eyes down as he took his seat at the table, and listened to the scraping of the chair against the floor when Rodolphus sat beside him. He only glanced up when he heard Maria clear her throat and the soft rustling of everyone folding their hands upon the table in prayer.

Maria recited a quick and rather cursory grace, thanking the Lord for the food before them, though Rabastan saw no use when they all knew better than to believe in God, then she looked impatiently to the kitchen doors, where House-elves were struggling to bring out dishes heavy with rich food.

"Hurry up," Maria told them, snapping her fingers, then let out a little sigh of relief when her plate was set safely before her.

Rabastan gazed dully at his meal. It looked like swan, decorated with glazed vegetables cut into the shapes of flowers, and though fowl was one thing that Rabastan could usually eat without feeling ill, he could not bring himself to so much as pick up his fork. The decorations looked garish, and the meat itself had an unpleasant sheen from the honey glaze that had been put on the carrots and cucumbers.

"I spoke to Cygnus Black today," Joseph said, breaking the all-too-familiar stony silence that had begun to settle over the Lestranges' table.

Rabastan's head snapped up at the mention of Cygnus, and he looked at Rodolphus, who did not even glance at him. This could only mean more discussion of marriage.

"What about?" Rodolphus asked.

"About your marriage. According to Cygnus, Bellatrix would be a very suitable bride indeed, just as we thought."

_No, no, God, no_…

"And she is very fond of you, Rodolphus," Maria added.

"It would be an excellent match, don't you think?" said Joseph

Rabastan opened his mouth to protest, but Rodolphus had already spoken.

"Yes, it would."

It was like the world had fallen away beneath Rabastan. He felt a swooping in his stomach, and if he had eaten so much as a bite, he was quite sure he would have vomited. Stars swam before his eyes.

"You would be willing to marry her, then?" Maria sounded almost surprised.

"If Father believes that it would be a good match…"

"I don't want Rodolphus to get married!" Rabastan burst out. He had been trying his hardest to stay silent, but he couldn't listen to his brother say things like that. "Bellatrix would be a terrible match for Rodolphus!"

"Why, Rabastan, I'm surprised," said Maria. "I always thought you got on rather well with Bellatrix."

"No!" If they had in the past, Rabastan could forget that entirely. She had committed the worst sin imaginable by being a suitable match for his brother. "She's not good enough! She– Mother, you're always talking about her improper behaviour!"

"Where did you hear that?" Maria demanded. "Have you been listening at doors?"

"No," Rabastan said automatically.

"Rabastan Lestrange! I thought I had taught you manners!"

"You haven't taught me anything," Rabastan muttered. "You don't even know I exist half the time. Rod's the one who's taught me manners. You don't care."

"Do not speak to your mother like that!" Joseph ordered. "There will be no more talk. Rabastan, you are clearly unable to behave reasonably. Now eat your dinner, and then you will go to your bedroom and not come out until breakfast.

Hot tears prickled the backs of Rabastan's eyes, he would not let his brother – or his father – see them fall. He kept his face stony, even managed a bit of a proud expression, and stared down at his meal.

The mere thought of putting meat into his mouth right now made his stomach turn.

He glanced up, around at his family. All of them were looking quite resolutely at their plates, away from him.

Hesitating, watching his parents closely, Rabastan moved the plate closer to the edge of the table. He spread his napkin upon his lap, picked up his fork, and slowly, carefully, began knocking pieces of food down into the fabric, a few at a time, between paranoid glances at his parents and brother.

His plate was almost empty when Rodolphus suddenly looked up at him, and he had to quickly skewer a chunk of meat and shove it into his mouth. It had gone cold and could have done with a liberal sprinkling of salt and pepper, but Rabastan chewed it as though it was the most delicious thing he had ever eaten.

Rodolphus did not look away until he'd swallowed.

When he was no longer being observed, Rabastan wasted no time dropping the last few pieces of food into his napkin, then quickly gathering it up into a bundle that could be concealed in his hand. The meat he had eaten sat heavily in his stomach like a lead weight.

"May I please be excused?" he asked, and when Joseph gave him a curt nod of assent, he all but ran upstairs to flush his dinner down the toilets and gag himself until he tasted acid and his stomach felt light and empty again.


	4. Chapter 4

Rabastan spent most of the night lying awake in bed, tossing and turning and worrying until he felt ill, and then he went to the toilets again and knelt on the ground until he was sure that he would not vomit, then he went back and lay down again.

It was miserable. _He_ was miserable.

And it was _stupid_ for him to be miserable.

What the hell was _wrong_ with him? He had always known that it was just a matter of time before he and Rodolphus were married off to eligible young women, and, really, it was no surprise that Rodolphus and Bellatrix were being matched up. _Why_ should this have come as such a surprise to Rabastan?

"Because you're an idiot, Rab," he whispered to himself.

He must have fallen into a fitful sleep at some point, because he opened his eyes and found Rodolphus sitting on the foot of his bed, looking at him.

"What is it, Rod?"

"Andromeda Black is here to see you," he told him.

"What? Why?" Rabastan sat up in bed, smoothing his hair down automatically. "What's she here for?"

"I don't know. She came with Bellatrix."

"Oh." Rabastan should have known. Of course Andromeda wouldn't have come on her own - she had to bring her sister along, and now Bellatrix and Rodolphus would go off on a walk somewhere, and probably make love in the gardens...

Rabastan had to stop thinking of that before he made himself ill.

"You look a mess, Rab," Rodolphus said rather tenderly. "Didn't you sleep well?"

"Not especially well, no," Rabastan mumbled. He swung out of bed and reached for his robes, then gave Rodolphus a very pointed look. "Do you mind?"

"Mind what?"

"I'm getting dressed. Christ, Rod…"

"Oh…" Rodolphus flushed a little. "I… oh." He turned away and Rabastan pulled his nightshirt off hastily and yanked on his robes.

"Is Bellatrix going to be coming round every day now, then?" Rabastan asked, and he didn't even bother concealing the jealousy in his voice. "I don't see why… it isn't as though she doesn't know you well enough already. She might as well not see you until the wedding…"

"You're being stupid, Rab," Rodolphus told him. "It's different now that we're getting married."

"_Different?_" Rabastan spat. "Yes, obviously it's different! Now all of a sudden, she's your favourite person on the planet, and I'm…" He trailed off before he could say something quite as pathetically jealous as all the thoughts running through his mind. "Never mind. You can have fun with her, I don't much care."

"Are you going to behave this way until the wedding?"

"Yes," Rabastan muttered mutinously. "And after. As long as you're preferring Bellatrix to me–"

"I _don't_ prefer Bellatrix to you!" Rodolphus said indignantly. "You're my brother. She's my fiancée. There's hardly competition between you two! I don't love my brother the same way I love my fiancée."

Rabastan fell silent. He would have argued the point, but for his fear of the conclusion his brother might choose to draw if he did.

"Come on," Rodolphus said, sighing. "The girls will be waiting for us. Bellatrix and I are going to be in the parlour. You and Andromeda might want to have a bit of a walk – you could do with some fresh air…"

"Mm." Rabastan didn't look at his brother while he stepped out and headed downstairs. Bellatrix and Andromeda were standing in the foyer, and it seemed to Rabastan – though perhaps he was imagining it – that Bellatrix gave him a predatory little grin while he walked down the stairs. He shuddered a bit – she was a frightening sort of girl at the best of times, and the thought of his brother sharing her bed…

Rodolphus all but elbowed past Rabastan in his hurry to get to her side. He took her hand and kissed it politely, as their parents had taught them to do, and Bellatrix smirked. She put two fingers under Rodolphus's chin and lifted his head, pressing her lips down over his.

Rabastan's stomach lurched. _God_, it was bad enough to _think_ about them doing this sort of thing, but actually seeing it was enough to make him want to cry.

Andromeda apparently shared the sentiment, because she gave Bellatrix a shove. "Stop that, it's disgusting. Find somewhere to do it where we don't have to watch you."

"Oh, _pardon me_," Bellatrix said, her lip curling. She draped her arms around Rodolphus's neck and shot her sister a devilish grin. "I'm _sure_ that you and Rabastan won't be getting up to _anything_ of this sort."

_No, we most certainly won't!_ Rabastan thought indignantly, but he kept his mouth shut.

"Come on," said Rodolphus, putting his arm around Bellatrix's waist and pulling her gently towards the parlour. Rabastan clenched his hands into fists and tried not to think too hard about what they would be doing in there.

"_God,_" Andromeda sneered derisively when they were gone. "Those _two._ You should tell your brother to try to keep it in his trousers for a change…"

"Mm," Rabastan mumbled again.

"Let's go." Andromeda pointed to the door. "The further we can get from them the better – I'd hate to be sitting around here and hear them going at it, wouldn't you?"

"Y- yes," Rabastan said rather uncertainly. Unbidden, images of his brother on top of Bellatrix, _defiling_ himself with her, defiling their _home_ with her, filled his mind and he rubbed his eyes, trying to get rid of them.

"Come on, then," said Andromeda. She grabbed his hand and led him towards the door, and Rabastan swallowed, a flush rising in his face. Her hand was soft and warm and distinctly _feminine_ and he didn't quite know how to feel about this sort of contact. After all, Mother and Father had always said not to have any sort of physical contact with women before marriage – but then, Rodolphus and Bellatrix were breaking that rule, weren't they? And besides, it wasn't as though they – Mother and Father – would ever know.

Andromeda was dragging him, pulling him out the doors, down the steps and along a garden path, and Rabastan did not bother to resist her. What was the point? She was stronger than him, and it wasn't as if he cared where she was taking him or what she was going to do to him, not when his brother was in the parlour with Bellatrix.

The day was hardly warm and there was a thick layer of cloud blanketing the sky, but there was no snow on the ground and Rabastan was just able to control his shivering.

Andromeda stopped sharply and looked at him. "Are you cold?"

"A bit…" he muttered, clenching his hands into fists to protect his fingers.

Andromeda sighed and pulled her cloak from around herself, draping it over him. "Here. Take this."

"What?" He put his hand self-consciously on his own shoulder, feeling the thick, warm wool. "Oh… no, you don't have to do that." A flush was rising in his cheeks, as was so often the case when he felt as though he was being patronized.

"I don't fancy explaining things to your brother if you get sick from being out here with me," Andromeda said carelessly. "Come on, now."

She vaulted up onto the stone wall that encircled the gardens of Lestrange Manor as easily as a spider might crawl across a thread, then reached down to help Rabastan clamber up after her. He huffed and gasped and she strained to lift him and by the time he was on top, he felt winded, even with her assistance.

"Merlin, you look peaky," she told him. "Are you always this weak?"

"I'm not weak!" he said indignantly

"Then come on." She slid off the wall on the other side and started walking away.

Rabastan clung to the stones so tightly that his fingers hurt as he slowly lowered himself down. His heart was in his mouth and he felt dizzy, but he got his feet on the ground at last, and followed Andromeda away, feeling more than a little bit ill.

"God, but you're slow," she said, turning back to him.

Rabastan said nothing in response, and scowled at the ground. He resented how casually Andromeda could scramble around, never losing her breath or slowing down except to wait for him. He would never be that strong – it was something that he had reconciled himself to long ago, that he would never be strong like Rodolphus was, but the way that Andromeda looked at him, like he was pathetic for not being able to keep up with her, made him flush with shame.

"Do you want some help?" she asked.

"No!"

There was genuine concern in her voice, at that only made Rabastan feel worse. He caught up with her, clutching his chest as his heart pounded madly against his ribs. The way it was going, he was quite terrified that he was going to have a heart attack, but he'd be _damned_ before he voiced any such concern to Andromeda.

Was pride like this a sin?

Yes, he supposed, but he would have it nonetheless.

"Sit down," she told him, pointing at the ground, all spiny brown grass and dead flowers. Rabastan winced a little at the idea of getting the dirt on his clothing.

"No. I'm all right!"

"Not because you're out of breath," she told him, sounding exasperated. "Because I want to talk to you."

"Oh…"

"So sit." Andromeda sank down onto the grass, stretching her legs in front of her, and she looked up at Rabastan expectantly. "Come on. I'm not going to hurt you. There's just… well, something I want to ask you…"

Rabastan swallowed, then slowly settled onto his knees. The grass prickled his skin through his trousers and he shifted uncomfortably in it. He would have grass and mud all over his clothes, and who knew what sort of insects and spiders had might be lurking…

"God's sake, Rabastan, just sit _down!_"

"I _am_ sitting!"

"Good!" Andromeda ran one hand through her hair, twisting deep brown curls around her fingers. "Then can I ask you my bloody question?"

"I'm not stopping you."

"Why don't you want to marry me?"

Rabastan's mouth opened, but he closed it again swiftly. He had not been expecting such a point-blank question and it unnerved him a little.

"I- where did you hear that?"

_He had only even begun to consider it a serious possibility last night!_

"Things get around." Andromeda sounded a touch grim. "Gossip spreads quickly – your mother overhears something and talks to your father, my aunt overhears that and talks to my mother, and I overhear her talking to my father… but even without that… well, you don't exactly hide it."

"I don't know what you mean," Rabastan said stubbornly.

"Yes, you do, you idiot. I know that you don't want to marry me." She sounded quite bitter. "I can tell – when I'm the only marriageable girl your age and you don't ask me to dance even once at a party…"

"I'm sorry if I offended you," Rabastan muttered.

"Oh, you didn't offend. So you don't want to marry me – I don't care." Andromeda plucked a blade of grass and twirled it between her fingers, apparently avoiding Rabastan's eye. "I'm not mad about the idea of getting married either, to be honest, so don't think you're about to hurt my feelings. I just want to know why."

"I… don't know…" said Rabastan. He wished that Rodolphus was here to do the talking – he was so much better at these things than Rabastan was.

"You must know," said Andromeda. "You have to know what you _think_ – I mean, I know you do know what you think and you're just afraid to say it. What, do you want someone else to say it so that you don't have to?" She threw down the flower, turning towards him again. "You can't expect your _brother_ to know what you feel, for God's sake, Rabastan."

He looked at her sharply. "What do you mean by that?"

"I think you know what I mean."

Rabastan could feel the blood draining from his face. He stared at her for a moment, then leapt up, backing away.

_She can't know, she can't, she doesn't know how you feel, no one possibly could, not ever…_

"I- I don't feel very well…" he told her, then stumbled to his feet, backing and then running away from her.

"Rabastan?" he heard her calling after him, but he didn't look back – he _couldn't_.

He scrambled up over the garden wall, and collapsed to the ground on the other side, burying his face in his hands and taking deep, shuddering breaths. His chest hurt badly, and he clutched at it, trying to calm the frantic beating of his heart.

_I think you know what I mean._

Surely… well, surely all she meant was that he depended on Rodolphus too much. Yes, that was it. That was something that plenty of people had said – Mother and Father said it, and even Rabastan thought it to himself sometimes, and though Rodolphus would never voice the opinion, Rabastan was sure that it had crossed his mind. Surely Andromeda simply meant that he was expecting Rodolphus to explain Rabastan's thoughts and emotions to other people when he, Rabastan, could not. And she was right, wasn't she? That was what he had been thinking, even…

So _why_ had it sounded so very much like she was insinuating…

Stars were popping in front of Rabastan's eyes, and he couldn't draw breath. He ran his hands through his hair and over his face, trying to wipe away the sweat beading upon his forehead, but he couldn't do it…


	5. Chapter 5

Everything was dark.

Someone had drawn the curtains that covered Rabastan's bedroom windows and he could see only the faintest crack of sunlight beneath the heavy drapes. For that, he was grateful – the sun would have given him a terrible headache.

Rabastan's last memory had been of searing heat inside him, burning up his body from the core before he collapsed. And now he was pleasantly cool, lying wrapped in a thin, soft sheet that brushed comfortingly against his bare skin when he moved.

_Someone had taken the time to undress him, then._

He lifted his hand to touch his brow and his arm felt heavy. His skin was clammy and cold, and his hand trembled violently.

_What happened?_

Rabastan had been out on the moors with Andromeda, he remembered that. He had been tired, climbing about after her, but it had all been all right, until she had said something, and he had run away, and then he must have fainted…

_What had she said?_

He couldn't remember – his mind was a blurry mess.

"You've been out for hours, Rab."

Rabastan sat up quickly. His head spun and he sank back down onto the pillows with a soft groan.

"Rodolphus?"

"Yes…" Rabastan felt his brother's warm, familiar hand close around his, and the bed shifted slightly as Rodolphus sat down. Rabastan's vision had begun to clear, and he could see his brother's silhouette now.

"What happened?" he asked in a small, tremulous voice. "I think I was outside with Andromeda… and…"

"I saw you out the window," Rodolphus told him. "You came running down the hill and threw yourself over the wall and then–" It might have been Rabastan's imagination, but he thought he heard his brother's voice tremble with emotion. "You could have given yourself a heart attack for God's sake, Rab! What came over you?"

"I'm sorry…"

"Don't apologize. Just tell me what happened."

Rabastan's throat tightened. _I will not cry!_ he ordered himself, but he was finding it very difficult to stop himself from sounding hysterical as he tried to explain himself.

"I got angry at Andromeda," he said, the pitch of his voice rising with every word. "I didn't mean to, but she- she said something- I can't remember…" _I don't want to remember_, "and I just wanted to get away from her… and I ran away, and when I got over the wall, I just…" He trailed off helplessly.

"You fainted," Rodolphus supplied. "I saw that much."

"Weren't you busy with Bellatrix?" Rabastan asked, not bothering to stop himself from sounding bitter.

"Busy with– We were just talking, Rab!" Rodolphus sounded taken aback. "What did you _think_ we were doing?"

Rabastan didn't say anything.

_Oh, I'm _sure_ you were just talking._

He turned over, frowning and avoiding looking at his brother. He heard Rodolphus sigh and then stiffened as his brother laid his hand upon his leg.

"Rabastan," Rodolphus said seriously, "you didn't think that we were… you know… _doing anything_, did you?"

"Yes." Rabastan's voice cracked, rising in pitch and giving away how close to tears he was. He bit his tongue, disgusted with himself. "Yes, of course I thought you were _doing something._ What did you _expect_ me to think?"

"Not _that._"

There was a pause, in which Rabastan did not dare to speak for fear of tears, then Rodolphus said, "You know that she isn't _replacing_ you, don't you?"

"What?" Rabastan turned over so that he was facing his brother, and his heart pounded. "Why would I think that? You said yourself – you love your brother differently than you love her…"

"Yes," said Rodolphus slowly, "but… but Rabastan, you know…" He fell silent and there was a long moment of silent tension, then shook his head. "Never mind. Rab… Andromeda came back a few minutes after you did, all concerned about what she said to offend you…"

"What did she say?" Rabastan asked weakly. "I… I can't remember…"

"She said…" Rodolphus sounded a bit grim. "Or… she _said_ that she said that you can't expect me to know how you feel. Is that right?"

Rabastan clenched his hands into tight fists beneath the sheets, digging his nails into his palms until he felt the skin break. "Yes… she said that."

"For _God's sake, _Rabastan, why would you go running off because of that?" Rabastan had never heard his brother sound so confused or impatient. "That's- that's not even an _insult_, for God's sake! And you _know_ you aren't strong enough to run! You know you'll make yourself sick! And of _course_ I don't know how you feel – if I did, I wouldn't be so bloody confused by you all the time!"

"I'm sorry, Rod…" he whispered

"Don't apologize to me – explain what was going through your head!"

Rabastan swallowed, scratching his nails back and forth across his palms. The pain gave him something to focus on besides his shame at being so _very_ weak. "I… I don't know, Rod…"

"That isn't an answer!" Rodolphus broke off, then sighed, and lowered his voice. "Listen to me, Rab. Andromeda's right – I have no idea what goes on in your mind and I'm not going to work it out until you tell me."

"I don't… like… talking about it," Rabastan said through gritted teeth.

"Well, that's obvious! If you don't want me to understand, then fine." Rodolphus stood up, and even in the dark, Rabastan could tell that his brother was glaring at him. "But don't expect to _not_ tell me, and then expect me to be able to do anything to help you."

Rabastan almost opened his mouth to beg his brother to stay, but he couldn't bring himself to say it, because he _knew_ that if he did, Rodolphus would just keep asking him, and how could he respond? How was he supposed to explain to his brother what he felt – and what had upset him so much – when he didn't even understand it himself? He watched his brother turn away, head towards the door, and finally turn back and look at him again.

"Do you want me to stay?" Rodolphus asked, with a resigned sigh, and Rabastan nodded, grateful that he didn't need to ask for it.

"Fine…"

Rodolphus turned back from the door, and returned to Rabastan's bedside – a relief, until he kicked off his shoes and lay down upon the bed beside his brother. Rabastan felt his heartbeat quicken and his whole body go stiff – he was suddenly very acutely aware of the fact that he was not wearing anything beneath the sheets.

"Rod?"

"You don't mind, do you?" asked Rodolphus. His voice – such an infuriatingly soft, warm murmur – made it all but impossible for Rabastan to speak, much less say _Yes, yes I mind, get out of my bed_.

He lay stiffly on his back, staring at his brother, mentally begging him not to get any closer.

Of course, he did.

Rodolphus shifted in the bed, and before Rabastan could protest (not that he was sure that he wanted to…), Rodolphus's arms were around him.

"Rod?" he whispered, trying not to sound as panicked as he felt.

"Is something wrong?" Rodolphus murmured in his ear.

_Yes. Yes, something is very wrong. You aren't supposed to touch me this way – you're supposed to touch _Bellatrix_ this way, maybe, but not me…_

"No," he squeaked.

_And I'm certainly not supposed to feel _this_ way about you touching me…_

Rabastan was old enough – experienced enough – to recognize that creeping sensation in the pit of his stomach, and the even more worrying tingle slightly lower down, and he thanked God for the sheets protecting his body from Rodolphus's. His heart was pounding quickly, and sweat beaded on his forehead.

"Rodolphus…" he whispered, using his brother's full name for once. "Rodolphus, I'm…"

"Mmm?" murmured Rodolphus. He sounded tired.

Rabastan couldn't speak. He felt dizzy, and so _painfully_ confused, and Rodolphus's arms felt so _good_ around him, and…

_Think about something else, for God's sake, Rab!_

He was trying so hard not to melt back into his brother's arms, to stay stiff and not to show how _very_ much he was enjoying Rodolphus's embrace, but it was painfully difficult, and there was a familiar, _disconcertingly_ pleasant tingling in the pit of his stomach…

Rabastan moved very slowly, careful not to disturb his brother, who, by the sound of the heavy, steady breathing in Rabastan's ear, had already drifted to sleep.

_It's nothing to do with him…_

Rabastan let out a soft sigh, managing to get his hand between his legs without moving enough to wake Rodolphus. Even a slight touch came as a relief to him, and his whole body shivered very slightly as he wrapped his fingers around his cock.

_Nothing to do with Rodolphus…_

Moving very slowly, very carefully, trying hard not to dislodge his brother, Rabastan stroked himself with a shaking hand. He fought to keep his breath steady, fought to keep himself from letting out even the tiniest of moans that might awaken Rodolphus. He shut his eyes, trying to conjure images that would speed up the process so that he would finish and be able to go to sleep as soon as possible.

He pictured Andromeda – pretty Andromeda, with her sensual, curvy body, lying upon his bed with her legs spread open invitingly. Fantasizing about the woman who would eventually be his wife – that was _good_, that was _right_, that…

That did _nothing_ for him. If anything, he softened slightly in his hand.

Bellatrix replaced her sister in his mind, half-dressed, skirts up around her hips and blouse unbuttoned enough to show off her breasts, dark hair dishevelled, a wicked smile upon her lips. Any man would kill to have her, and Rabastan stroked himself harder. Perhaps it was not so good to fantasize about one's soon-to-be wife's sister, but it was at least _reasonable…_

He chewed on the insides of his lips to keep moans back, all but yanking on himself, no longer much caring if he woke Rodolphus–

_Rodolphus._

_Rodolphus, on the bed where Andromeda and Bellatrix had been. Rodolphus, naked, chest heaving, hair all dishevelled and face flushed, with his hand around his cock, and his lips were moving, his whole body arching as he whispered,_ Oh, Rab…

Seed spurted over Rabastan's hand, and his body jolted.

"Rab…"

He stiffened. Of course, he should have _expected_ that he would wake his brother, but…

_God_, but he had never been so humiliated. He trembled, wiping his come slowly off his hand, and as he twisted around, terrified of having to look into his brother's eyes, he felt something hard brush against his backside.

_It's all right, Rodolphus doesn't know – he can't know – he can't know what you were thinking…_

Nevertheless, his face flushed crimson with shame and he looked at his brother only for a second before turning away again.

"Get out of my bed, Rod," he said in a tiny, shaking voice.

Rodolphus did not protest. He unwrapped his arms from around his little brother, pulling himself out of bed, then backing away, towards the door. Rabastan felt as though he was about to be ill.

_God, I can't believe…_

Rodolphus opened the door, and in the second in which light from the hall flooded the room before Rodolphus darted out and pulled the door shut behind him, Rabastan was quite sure that he could see a bulge in the front of his brother's trousers.

It was only once he was alone that Rabastan allowed what he had just done – what had just _happened_ – to sink in.

Mother and Father would have _fits_ if they knew about this. Tears stung in the backs of Rabastan's eyes – Mother would wail about the gossip that would be spread if anyone ever found out that he, Rabastan, had come over the thought of his _brother…_

_Come over the thought of his brother._

_Oh, dear God._

_Come over the thought of his brother, and _not_ over his future wife_ or_ the most beautiful girl that Rabastan had ever known._

_No, over his _brother.

If it had been any other man – well, that would have been bad enough. It could have made him unmarriageable, a terrible fate for the child of any proper, Pureblood family. But at least – at least it wouldn't have been quite so _wrong…_

His _brother._

Incest wasn't a foreign concept to Rabastan – he knew perfectly well that it was acceptable to marry anyone as close as a cousin to keep bloodlines pure. But he also knew – from listening in to more conversations than he ever should have – that sex between _siblings_ was dreadfully wrong, because a baby produced between siblings was sickly.

He could recall – just barely – a whispered conversation between his mother and Druella, and Druella saying, in a worried voice that had quite clearly conveyed that she did not for a minute believe what she was saying…

_But between two sisters – surely there isn't anything wrong with that, because there can't be a child born…_

_But it is unhealthy_, Maria had said, all scorn and superiority. _It is unhealthy and impure. You should know that, Druella._

_Unhealthy and impure._

And if it was unhealthy and impure between two sisters, then surely it was just as terrible between two _brothers…_

"Stop," Rabastan whispered out loud, trying to bite back panicked tears.

This wasn't enough for him to say that he lusted after his brother – or even that he lusted after men. It was just one moment, it meant nothing…

Oh, but it meant so very, very much.

Rabastan had never been so painfully, _desperately_ aroused as he had been when he was thinking of his brother, and that _had_ to mean _something_…

He didn't like to think of it as _being in love_ – that sounded stupid and childish to him, an oversimplification of what he felt. The very thought of _being in love_ drew to mind girls who simpered over fairy tales, and that bore no resemblance to what Rabastan felt. Fairy tales' version of _being in love_ never talked about the twisting sense of _wrongness_, never talked about shame…

_Never involved the princes falling in love with each other instead of with the princesses…_

So Rabastan didn't let himself think that he might be _in love with his brother._

He didn't let himself think it, but he could feel that it was true.


	6. Chapter 6

Rabastan could not sleep.

He tried to rest, tried to calm himself down, but he tossed and turned for hours before finally getting out of bed and dressing as best he could without needing to turn a light on. As long as he was still in bed, he couldn't stop thinking about Rodolphus, and he hoped – perhaps for no proper reason, but hoped – that getting out and leaving would help him clear his mind of thoughts of him.

It did him no good.

Barely had he opened the door of his bedroom and stepped into the corridor outside than his stomach heaved terribly and he had to rush for the lavatory and bend over the toilet. He spat up a mouthful of acid that burned his throat, for there was nothing in his belly to throw up.

Rabastan rested his head against the wall and trembled, his whole body shaking terribly.

_You were only sick because of something you ate_, he tried to tell himself, but he knew full well that that was a lie. He wasn't sick on bad food.

He was sick on guilt.

Crippling, agonizing guilt that made him feel disgusting inside and out.

He sat on the lavatory floor for a long time, occasionally leaning over and coughing up another mouthful of liquid, but mostly sitting in silence and allowing his guilt to wash over him in waves.

_I'm such a mess._

Rabastan wondered vaguely if other boys ever felt this way or if he was the only one – though he couldn't bear to actually put into words – even in his own mind – what _feeling this way_ meant. That would require thinking – really thinking – about what he had done and what he felt and he couldn't stand that.

_Getting hard for your brother. Lusting over a boy, and not just any boy, but your own flesh and blood…_

There was a soft knock on the door and Rabastan jumped.

He couldn't face Rodolphus. He couldn't face Rodolphus _knowing_ that he knew what Rabastan had done when the two of them were lying in bed together. Of, even if Rodolphus didn't know, Rabastan wouldn't be able to look at him without _thinking_ that he knew, and that might drive him mad…

So Rabastan didn't make a noise. He sat perfectly still and looked fearfully at the door, mentally willing it not to open.

Of course, it did.

The handle turned and the door creaked open slowly, and Rabastan dropped his head automatically, staring at his hands.

"Rabastan, darling?"

There were not words enough in the English language to describe the incredible relief that Rabastan felt when he heard not his brother's low, serious voice, but the high, fluttering tones of his mother. He looked up, weakened with relief.

"Mother," he said, forcing himself to smile slightly. He was far from genuinely pleased to see her, but it was vastly preferable to be interrupted by her than by his brother.

"Come down for dinner, dear. Bellatrix and Andromeda are here and Andromeda's asking after you. You gave us all quite a fright earlier today." She let out a breathy laugh and Rabastan wanted to slap her. _Gave you all quite a fright – as though I fainted _on purpose_ to bother you!_

"I'm not hungry," he said quietly. "Can't you just tell Andromeda that I'm fine? I've been sick, Mother," he added, blinking his eyes so that tears came to them and looking up at her with what he hoped was an expression that would incite pity.

It did no such thing.

"No," Maria said. She leaned forward and took Rabastan's arm firmly. "Come downstairs right this minute. You needn't eat much, but you have to make an appearance. My God, you're a mess." She held him firmly in place, smoothing down his hair with her hands, then dampening the corner of a towel and using it to sponge off Rabastan's face. His cheeks flamed – _I'm not a child, I can do this myself, I don't need your help for God's sake!_ – but he let her do it.

"Good boy," Maria said. She set down the towel, then pulled on Rabastan's shirt, straightening it. "You want to be presentable, don't you?"

_Not particularly._

"Mother?"

"Yes, Rabastan, my darling?" She smoothed her hand over his shoulder and she didn't even meet his eyes. "What is it?"

"Am I really going to have to marry Andromeda?"

He didn't want to have to skirt around the point – he was going to have to do enough hiding of his true intentions in asking the question without having to hide the question itself as well. Maria looked a bit surprised and regarded him with some suspicion for a moment, but then took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He could see the breath straining against her too-tight bodice and wondered briefly whether it hurt her to lace herself into such confining dresses.

"Your father and I think that it would be ideal," she said quietly. "It would be an excellent marriage, Rabastan – _two_ ties to the Black family, if Rodolphus and Bellatrix get married – and you like Andromeda, don't you, darling?"

He lifted one shoulder in a tiny shrug. What was he to say to that? He couldn't tell his mother that he disliked her – though he had _hated_ her earlier that day – but he didn't want to say that he liked her either. That would be like giving them permission to carry on with the marriage and he couldn't stand that.

"It's not finalized yet, in any case," Maria told him, shaking her head a little. "So don't worry yourself over it, my darling. We won't be sure whether you and she will be married until after Bellatrix and Rodolphus are. So if you're nervous…"

"I'm not nervous," Rabastan said quickly. _Angry, yes, disgusted, yes, unwilling, yes, but not nervous._

"Good," she said, quickly smoothing her hand over his hair one more time, and unless Rabastan was very much mistaken, he thought that he saw tears glistening in his mother's eyes.

Maria did not cry. She was prone to all manner of other fits and displays of emotion, but he had never seen tears in his mother's eyes, except a sort of wetness that came when she was particularly angry, usually about something that Druella had done. But she didn't look angry – she looked _sad_, really sad, and before Rabastan could ask her if something was wrong, she had drawn him into a tight embrace.

He made no noise, no protest, but he went stiff when she smothered him against her breast. Her hold was altogether too tight, and if Rabastan had been as strong as Rodolphus was, he would have thrown her off. He would have pushed her away and told her not to touch him like that, like a _real_ mother would, when she and he both knew that she hadn't been any sort of mother at all to him. She had spent her whole life letting Rodolphus raise him while she went around to her parties and now she was trying to hold him, trying to be tender…

He hated her.

Rabastan had never thought that before – it hadn't even fully occurred to him that one _could_ truly hate one's parents, but in that moment, when all he could do was choke on Maria's perfume while she clung to him, he knew that he hated his mother with everything he had in him.

She wasn't any sort of real mother in any case – she didn't know how to raise a child and she didn't care. It was no _wonder_ that Rabastan was sick…

_No, that was stupid. He couldn't blame that on his mother._

Of course he could. Anger welled in his throat – it was _easier_ to blame Maria. It was so easy to think to himself that the only reason he had for desiring his brother was that Maria didn't care about him so Rodolphus had always been the only person he was close to and some sick, disgusting part of his mind had confused the love that he ought to feel for his only caretaker with the love that he ought to feel for a woman…

"I love you, my little boy," Maria whispered, and Rabastan actually had to clench one hand into a fist to stop himself from shoving her away. _My little boy_ indeed – did she really think him such a child? Did she really think that he was still young enough to call _my little boy_ and that he wouldn't mind?

"I love you too, Mother," Rabastan said quietly, trying to keep derision out of his voice.

She broke away and gave him a watery smile before extending one hand.

"Come down," she said quietly. "They'll be waiting for us."

Rabastan looked at her hand for a moment, then brushed past her without taking it, heading downstairs.

He heard her sigh, and when he glanced back, she still had her hand outstretched.


	7. Chapter 7

Rabastan thought that Rodolphus and Bellatrix were sitting _far_ too close together. If he had had the authority, he would have told them to move apart and that they were not displaying propriety. Bellatrix's hand was on Rodolphus's thigh when he came down and he felt a surge of anger.

_And perhaps just a touch of jealousy_.

He purposefully bumped her chair when he went past her and she glared up at him, moving her hand back to her own lap.

"Rab," Andromeda said, and he bristled automatically. That was his brother's name for him. She had no business calling him by it. Did she think that it was going to make him want her?

_No, of course she didn't think that!_

She didn't know about him and Rodolphus. Of course she didn't – what was there to know, really? He and Rodolphus hadn't _done_ anything. All that had happened was that Rabastan had had _one_ little fantasy about his brother that didn't really mean anything and there was absolutely no way that Andromeda could know about the fantasy.

"I was so worried about you." She stood up and started to raise a hand, as though to touch his shoulder. He jerked back automatically.

"Don't touch me!"

She looked hurt and her hand fell back to her side. "I- Oh… all right, if you- if you don't want… I just wondered… are you all right? You seemed so ill…"

"I'm fine!" he snapped, then added, hoping that she would echo this to her parents and that it _might_ be enough to end the engagement, "I'm very ill all the time, you know. I'm probably not going to live very much longer."

"Really?"

"Rabastan!" Rodolphus snapped to attention and stared at his brother with an expression of mixed anger and disgust. "Don't you _dare_ say that! You aren't going to die!" He stood up and grabbed him by his shoulders, forcing him to look him dead in the eye. "You _aren't_, do you understand me?"

"I…" Rabastan stammered. He couldn't even speak properly and his hands began to shake violently when he tried to push Rodolphus away from him.

"Sit down, Rod," Bellatrix murmured. She stood up as well and placed her hands on Rodolphus's waist and her chin on his shoulder. "It's not worth fighting over, you know… Rabastan knows that he's not going to die…"

Rodolphus glared at Rabastan, but sank back into his chair just as Maria breezed into the room with Joseph on her arm.

"Is everything all right?" Maria asked, but she wasn't even looking at Rabastan or Rodolphus or even Andromeda and Bellatrix. Her eyes were on the door to the kitchen, on the house-elf scurrying out, laden with platters of food and on the silver cutlery already set on the table. She was examining it with the intensity of someone who cared nothing about the people she was speaking to and only about the way she was presenting herself to them.

"Everything's fine," Bellatrix said, before Rabastan or Andromeda or Rodolphus could speak up. "We were just talking. The food looks wonderful," she added sweetly and Rabastan wanted to scratch that sweet, sanctimonious smile right off of her face.

_She is disgusting._

What could Rodolphus possibly see in her? Rabastan had considered the question before, but now, while he was looking directly at her, he couldn't consider even one real reason that _anyone_ – least of all his brother – would want to go to bed with Bellatrix.

She was pretty, he supposed, but she was such a horrible girl…

"Rabastan? You are all right, are you not?"

It felt like it had been a terribly long time since Rabastan's father had actually asked him a question – least of all one that was as personal as _are you all right_ – and he looked up at Joseph with some surprise. His face was stony and impassive as ever, but he was looking directly at Rabastan and there was a small crease between his brows that made Rabastan wonder what his father thought was wrong.

"I'm all right," Rabastan said quickly. He sat down beside Andromeda's place and lowered his eyes, staring at the table. He pretended that the wood grain fascinated him and there was a silence in which Rabastan was sure that he could feel everyone's eyes on him, then Maria cleared her throat quietly and he heard chairs scraping while his parents and Andromeda took their seats.

He could feel Andromeda's presence beside him while the food was served. He could feel how much she wanted to move closer and rest her hand upon his leg as Bellatrix was doing to Rodolphus. He could feel her worry, feel her sense that she must have done something wrong to put Rabastan in this state…

"Andromeda," Joseph said suddenly, "tell us what happened between you and Rabastan earlier today."

_God, no, don't make me go through it again._

"Joseph," Maria whispered. "Why are you asking…?"

"I'm curious," he said curtly. Rabastan looked up and saw that his father's eyes were fixed on him, not on Andromeda.

"Well…" Andromeda said hesitant. "It wasn't anything, really. I overreacted. I panicked. Really, Sir, it wasn't any concern, except that I'd never seen poor Rabastan in such a state before and I was so terribly afraid for him… I wouldn't have wanted him to be hurt, you know."

_Poor Rabastan._

As though he was a charity case. As though he was a child that had been put in her care.

_How patronizing._

"What were you discussing?" Joseph asked.

Rabastan looked sharply at Andromeda. Her head was turned away from him, but he could tell that she was hesitating, unwilling to say. _Thank God_, and he prayed that she wouldn't tell. He prayed that Andromeda _wouldn't_ tell, because he knew that his father suspected something and whatever Andromeda said, however much she said, Joseph would take that and twist it to support his theories about Rabastan.

And what were those theories?

What did he suspect? What did he think of his son? What was weighing so heavily upon his mind that he would actually _speak_, actually ask a question that required an answer? What did he know?

_He knows. They all know._

_Stop it!_

Rabastan put a hand to his forehead and thought that it felt warm.

He was being paranoid. He had no reason to think that anyone knew what he had thought about when Rodolphus was in bed with him – surely, if anyone knew, they would have confronted him about it immediately, telling him that it was perverse and wrong.

_Which it was. It was so wrong._

"Why, it wasn't anything much," Andromeda said slowly and Rabastan let out a slow breath, barely daring to believe that she really _was_ going to keep quiet. "We were just talking about… school."

Rabastan thought that it was dreadfully obvious that Andromeda was lying, but Joseph seemed to take her words as truth, for he leaned back in his chair and set to work on his food without another word. Though, perhaps he merely did not want to speak anymore.

The dinner seemed to last for hours. Rabastan could not eat – his stomach clenched and his throat tightened and he was _sure_ that he was going to vomit every time he put a piece of food in his mouth. It all tasted like sickness.

He tried to pay attention to the conversation, but Maria seemed to insist upon speaking only about Rodolphus and Bellatrix's wedding and the subject made Rabastan tremble with anger.

"I think that a June wedding would be lovely," Maria was saying. "Bellatrix will be finished school by then, and it's enough time that it won't seem _improper_, but near enough that we can start preparations immediately…"

"Is the betrothal finalized, then?" Rabastan interrupted. "The wedding is… _definitely_ going to happen?"

"It's not _officially_ finalized," Maria said with a small giggle. "But we know that it's going to happen. No one is going to break things off now – and you two are happy together, aren't you?" she added, looking to Rodolphus and Bellatrix.

Neither answered, and Rabastan's heart leapt, because he was _sure_ that that meant that they weren't sure. Perhaps Bellatrix didn't really want to marry Rodolphus – and _please let Rodolphus not want to marry her, please, please, please._

But they barely had a moment in which they could have responded before Maria was off chattering about what the decorations should be like and what Bellatrix should wear.

"I'll be wearing an heirloom dress, of course," Bellatrix interrupted when Maria started to discuss the benefits of white or blue dresses. "It's what every first daughter in the Black line has been wearing for over a century. It would only be proper for me to wear it, so you needn't worry."

Rabastan heaved a quiet sigh and stared down at his plate and tried not to think that, in just a few years, he would have to consider this for himself.


	8. Chapter 8

Rabastan didn't sleep at all that night. He just _couldn't_ – when he did drift off, he had terrible dreams from which he awoke with his heart beating fast and sweat pouring from his forehead. He would have gone to Rodolphus, but for the fact that even though he couldn't remember the details of his dreams when he woke up, he was quite sure that Rodolphus featured prominently in them.

So he tossed and turned until dawn and clung to a pillow in lieu of his brother and when the sun finally rose, he was stiff and aching and miserable. It took all his strength to heave himself out of bed and stumble down the corridor, towards the lavatory.

He stopped dead when he heard noises from his brother's room.

At first, he thought that Rodolphus must have been hurt or sick, because the noises were soft groans. His heart skipped a beat – Rodolphus couldn't be sick. Rodolphus wasn't _ever_ sick. Rodolphus was there to take care of him when _he_ was sick.

"Rod?" he whispered, but his voice was so quiet that he couldn't even hear himself, much less expect his brother to through a door.

But then he heard a distinctly feminine moan and suddenly he was desperately, desperately hoping that his brother was sick, because that was far better than the alternative.

He stepped up to the door and pressed his ear against it. His heart felt as though it was in his throat and his hands shook slightly as he tried to balance himself.

"Oh, _Rod_…"

That was Bellatrix's voice, Rabastan was positive, and the thought made his stomach clench with disgust. He turned the door handle and pushed it a few inches open.

Rodolphus was on the bed and Rabastan drew in a swift hiss of breath. There was a blanket covering his brother from the waist down – which was a mercy, because Rabastan was terrified of what his reaction might have been if he had seen Rodolphus without the blanket – and he was pressing Bellatrix down into the pillows. Her face was flushed and her eyelids lowered and it was very clearly she who had been moaning.

"You like that?" Rodolphus murmured. His voice was low and gravelly and Rabastan bit his lip hard. He had never heard his brother talk like that and he would have been lying if he had said that he didn't think it was rather…

"Mm hmm…" Bellatrix moaned, arching her back. She wrapped her arms around Rodolphus, clinging to him while he thrust hard against her. Rabastan felt flushed and a little dizzy and his trousers felt uncomfortably tight.

"I want you so much, Rod, so much…" Bellatrix continued breathlessly. "I– oh _Rod_…"

Shut up! Rabastan wanted to snap at her. She had no right to talk to his brother that way – like he was her husband instead of just her fiancé. It made him sick. He wanted her to be quiet.

He couldn't stand hearing anyone else moaning his brother's name.

She kicked the blankets back and an almost painful throb went through Rabastan's lower body as they fell away. Her legs wrapped around Rodolphus, but Rabastan could not even bring himself to be annoyed anymore – not now, not when he was gazing at his brother's strong, muscular body…

_No._ No, he wasn't thinking about his brother like that – that was sick! He would not think about Rodolphus that way. He would only think about women – no, even thinking about men wouldn't have been so bad if only it weren't his brother that he was thinking of…

"We have an audience, Rod," Bellatrix breathed, and Rabastan stiffened. He had been so distracted, so mesmerized by Rodolphus and by reminding himself not to think that way, that he had not noticed her looking at him. Her dark eyes glittered and she looked quite mad with her dark hair a mess over her shoulders.

"Mmm?" Rodolphus's head had been bowed and he had been facing away from Rabastan, but at Bellatrix's words, he looked up and at the door.

"I– I wasn't–" Rabastan began, but Rodolphus took no interest in his protests.

"Get _out_!" he shouted, grabbing at the blankets and pulling them up over himself and Bellatrix. "Get out, Rabastan – _now_!"

Rabastan had never known his brother to sound so angry before, and certainly never at him. It made his heart ache that he had upset Rodolphus, who was the only person who he really cared about…

"I'm sorry," he whispered, backing away. "I– I'm sorry–"

"Don't say that you're sorry!" Bellatrix told him, and he clenched his fists. Hearing Rodolphus tell him off and shout at him, that was one thing, but this was his home and not Bellatrix's and she had absolutely no right to talk that way.

"Out, Rabastan!" Rodolphus ordered again and Rabastan stumbled back, trying to hide the tears that were already springing to his eyes.

She had stayed the night. His brother had had Bellatrix stay for the night.

_And he had…_

Up until that point, Rabastan had been able to convince himself that there was a chance – slight, perhaps, but a chance nonetheless – that Rodolphus had no interest in Bellatrix. It was a stupid thing to hope, he knew, because she was beautiful and Rodolphus was just like every other man who could be transformed into a pathetic mess by a pretty girl, but he had really thought that his brother had better sense than that. Even though they were betrothed, even though Rabastan knew that Rodolphus wasn't going to try to break off the engagement, he had hoped that his brother had only been going through with the marriage because of a sense of duty, not because he wanted Bellatrix. It had been easy enough to believe – after all, Rodolphus had hardly seemed genuinely happy about the marriage, but now…

If he was sleeping with her, it meant that he wanted to be married.

Rabastan dragged himself into the lavatory and splashed cold water on his face. He felt so terribly tired and he felt so ill that he actually wished that he had something in his stomach that he could vomit up. That would make him feel better…

_No, it wouldn't._

Nothing would make him feel better then.

Nothing except seeing Rodolphus pushing Bellatrix away, nothing except knowing that his brother didn't want her. Nothing except feeling safe and secure in the knowledge that he was the person who his brother cared about and that Bellatrix was nothing…

But there was no point in hoping for that.

Perhaps, Rabastan thought, leaning against the sink, taking deep breaths and trying to push the image of Rodolphus and Bellatrix tangled on the bed out of his mind, sex with someone like Bellatrix would just be so incredible that even someone as stoic and logical as Rodolphus could be couldn't turn away the opportunity. Rabastan had no experience, after all – perhaps it was wrong of him to expect his brother to turn away the opportunity to make love to her. Perhaps sex with a woman – with Bellatrix, such a beautiful woman, specifically – was so many leaps and bounds and miles better than relying on one's own hand for pleasure that it would have been truly unreasonable for Rabastan to expect anyone to turn it down.

But he couldn't quite believe that that was the case.

Perhaps his brother simply wasn't as intelligent as he had always thought that he was.

He wiped his brow and scowled at his reflection in the mirror. And why was this upsetting him so? It was foolish of him. He would be married too, soon enough, and then this whole matter would be irrelevant, really. He would fall in love with Andromeda and all thoughts of his brother would be pushed from his mind…

_Ha._

No, Andromeda wasn't ever going to be able to push away thoughts of Rodolphus.

Rabastan knew that perfectly well.

But he could still hope. He could hope that he would learn to love her and take interest only in her…

The lavatory door flew open and Rabastan whipped around. Rodolphus was standing there, looking livid, and just the expression on his face made Rabastan want to crumple up and hide or die.

"What did you think you were doing?" Rodolphus demanded through gritted teeth. "Spying on us?"

"I heard moaning," Rabastan said quietly. He didn't meet his brother's eyes. "I wanted to be sure that everything was all right."

"That's a lie and you and I both know it!" Rodolphus snarled. "You knew perfectly well what we were doing! Did you just want to humiliate us? To humiliate me?"

_Yes._

"Of course not."

"What – were you getting off on it, then?" he demanded, and he sounded positively venomous. Rabastan stepped back, feeling a little knot of panic in his chest. "Just enjoying watching us?"

"No!" he insisted, quickly moving one hand to shield the bulge in his trousers. "That's sick, Rod – why would you even think that about me?"

"Oh, I don't know," Rodolphus hissed. "Maybe because, just yesterday, you were–"

Rodolphus broke off and for a moment, Rabastan wasn't sure why, but then he heard his father calling from downstairs.

"Rabastan, come down. I want a word with you."

"Is that Father?" Rabastan asked quietly, though he knew full well that it was. But Joseph had never called for Rabastan before – not in his memory, in any case. Talk between father and son was not something that often occurred in the Lestrange family – if a message needed to be relayed from Rabastan to Joseph, Rabastan would tell Rodolphus, who would tell Maria, who would tell her husband.

"Rabastan, downstairs. _Now_."

He cast a nervous glance at Rodolphus, who looked as confused as he felt, but there was nothing that he could do. He could not refuse his father.

"Coming!" he called out, then gave Rodolphus an anxious, confused glance and brushed past him, shivering a little as he headed down the staircase. Joseph was standing in the foyer with a grim expression.

"Come into my study," he said quietly. "There is something that we need to discuss. Father to son."


	9. Chapter 9

_Father to son_.

Those words had never boded well for Rabastan in the past. His father was apt to ignore him and Rodolphus and when he _did_ pay attention to them, it was usually only to tell them how to behave.

And, given the circumstances, Rabastan could only assume that this conversation was going to be exactly the same.

But in the past, the things that he'd been told not to do were simple matters of basic propriety that any child might violate – things like talking back to his mother, not eating what was put before him at dinner, not smiling politely to Druella Black and not dancing with Andromeda…

_You didn't dance with Andromeda at parties when you were a child because you were too busy clinging to your brother._

Did his father know what he had been thinking for the last few days? Did he have an inkling that Rabastan was harbouring thoughts about Rodolphus that would most _certainly_ be considered violations of propriety if anyone knew about them?

"Sit down," Joseph said, ushering Rabastan into his study and pointed at a tall, straight-backed chair. It was the same chair that had always sat across from Joseph's desk, the same chair that Rabastan had had to sit in every time his father lectured him…

"What is it, Father?" he asked quietly, settling onto the edge of the chair and clenching his hands into fists. "What did you want to discuss?"

Joseph sat down and folded his hands on his desk, examining his younger son. Rabastan tried to look anywhere but at his father – focussing instead on the shelves upon shelves of heavy, leather bound books, upon the quietly crackling fire in the grate, upon the papers stacked tidily upon the desk. He tried to read his father's cramped, stiff handwriting upside-down just to give himself something to think about besides the way he knew he was being examined.

"You do not want to be married to Andromeda."

The way he said it was simple, sober, a statement of fact with no emotion or question to it. Rabastan didn't respond and Joseph seemed to take his silence for assent.

"Why not?"

"I am too young to be married," Rabastan said quietly, still staring at the papers on the desk.

"You're sixteen years old. That is plenty old to be thinking of marriage. Your mother was married at sixteen."

"Girls can be married earlier than boys can," Rabastan said quickly. He looked up, biting the inside of his cheek. "Isn't that right, Father? Aren't men supposed to be older than sixteen when they're married? Aren't they supposed to have finished their schooling and perhaps travelled–"

"You will not be married for at least a year," Joseph interrupted. Rabastan could not tell whether he was irritated or simply speaking once again with that frighteningly expressionless tone that he used all too often. "You need not be married as soon as a betrothal is set. That you and Andromeda are engaged this year need not mean that you will be married for some time…"

"Then why must we be engaged now?"

Joseph fell silent, and now it was his turn to look away. He stared into the fire and Rabastan held his breath, waiting for a response. He could not help but wonder what thoughts could ruffle his father's straight, emotionless demeanour.

"What's the matter, Father?" he asked quietly. He shifted forward in the chair slightly, trying to catch Joseph's eye. "Has something happened? Something to the family? Is there a reason the betrothal must be finalized now?"

"You are too young to understand," Joseph said quietly.

"If I am old enough to be married, surely I am old enough to understand why I am to be married…"

Joseph sighed.

"It's… complicated."

"I'm not stupid, Father. I can understand if you'll only tell me."

"Rabastan… you know that you are- you are not strong…"

"Of course I know that. Everyone knows that." Rabastan swallowed. "I would not have thought that that was a problem… Andromeda doesn't seem to mind, after all…"

"Do you know _why_ you aren't strong?"

"It runs in the family," Rabastan said automatically, then hesitated. "Isn't that it? Isn't it just that the Lestranges are- are weaker than some other families? Isn't aristocracy supposed to be a little… less strong than commoners?" he added.

Joseph let out a small, mirthless laugh. "It is often the case."

"Then why…"

"Do you know what weaknesses… _run in the family_?"

"Fainting," Rabastan said immediately. "Delicate stomachs. Blindness. Diseases of the heart. Diseases of the bones–"

"Impotence."

"Pardon me?"

"There have been many… many men in the family," Joseph said, lowering his voice slightly as if he thought that they might be overheard, "who have found themselves unable – for one reason or another – to conceive children. Surely you understand what a terrible thing this is for a family with a responsibility to pass on its noble blood…"

"Yes, Father."

"Andromeda is a promiscuous girl," he said simply, and Rabastan started a little, eyes widening. He had never heard his father speak that way – he had assumed that sex was a matter that concerned only Maria. "Rumours of her behaviour have been very… very popular. If she continues in this way, it may not be long before she is with child. And she will not stop – women _never_ stop – behaving in this way _until she is betrothed_."

Rabastan didn't know what to say. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, his throat swollen and tight, and his mind seemed to have gone blank.

"Do you understand me?"

"Y- yes, Father…"

"If you _are_ impotent," Joseph said, and Rabastan's face burned crimson, "and you are married early, the Blacks will have no proof, if there are no children, that it is you at fault and not her. As long as she has not been with child before you and her are married, if you cannot conceive, it could be said that she is barren. But if she gets with child before your marriage, but cannot have another once you are married, then you will be the person who is blamed for it."

"But- but I'm not…" Rabastan stammered.

"It is difficult to tell, until one has tried to impregnate a woman," Joseph told him. Rabastan's insides felt like they were shrivelling with embarrassment. "A man can seem perfectly virile and then find himself unable to get a woman with child…"

"I…"

"Which," Joseph interrupted, "is why you need to be betrothed to her _quickly_. Even a promiscuous girl can curb her ways when she is betrothed. Andromeda is not without some self-control… and then you will need to be married not _very_ long after that."

"Just- just so that we can say- if she and I cannot conceive a child…" Rabastan's face burned as he said it, "so that we can say that it is her fault, not mine?"

"Exactly."

"But- but surely that is…" _Wrong. Immoral._

"It is a matter of politics, Rabastan," Joseph told him. "I knew that you were too young to understand, but you must trust that your mother and I are making the best decisions for you… and for the family."

"Yes, Father," he whispered.

"You may go now. I will thank you not to sulk any more about your betrothal and marriage to Andromeda."

"Yes, Father."

He stood up and started for the door, feeling ill. The way that his father discussed matters of sex and marriage and childbearing – like they were all players in a chess game, to be moved and sacrificed because of his decisions instead of what _they_ wanted – sickened him. He reached the door, then turned back.

"Father?"

"Yes?" He had taken up the stack of parchments that had been on his desk, the ones that Rabastan had tried to read, and began to shuffle through them, perhaps looking for something, but he set them down and looked at Rabastan when he spoke.

"Why are- why are so many men of the Lestrange family unable to- to conceive children?" he asked. It was an unbearably difficult question to ask, his voice shook badly and he did not know what sort of answer he expected, but he needed to ask it.

"It…" Joseph seemed surprised. "It is a matter of medicine, Rabastan. Their bodies are unsuited to it."

"Surely there are potions–"

"The potions have risks," Joseph said, rather sharply. "Children may not be healthy when their births are assisted by potions. I am sure that men who find themselves unable to have children consider these possibilities. Why would _you_ think that they find themselves unable to conceive?"

_Because their lusts are unsuited for it. _

_Because they don't want to lie with women and perhaps cannot even bring themselves to do it. Because the people who they desire cannot bear children with them…_

_Because they feel the same way that I do._

"I don't know, Father," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I don't know."


	10. Chapter 10

Rodolphus did not speak to Rabastan for the rest of the day. That was just as well, Rabastan thought, because he wasn't sure that he would be able to talk to his brother without making himself sick with anxiety. His fear that Rodolphus might somehow know about him had turned swiftly to paranoia, and the fact that he was sure that his father had some inkling of it did nothing to calm him. He skulked in the library instead, keeping his nose buried in a book and hoping that Bellatrix and Rodolphus would not decide to come in. That would have put Rabastan right over the edge, he thought. The very thought of Bellatrix and Rodolphus together drove him mad, made him want to reach out and give her a sharp slap across her face...

And how pathetic of him. How pathetic to be so obsessed with his own brother that he would want to hurt his bride. It was not Bellatrix's fault. She hadn't wanted to be married to him, surely. There had been a time when Rabastan had considered Bellatrix a friend – or, if not a friend, exactly, at least someone for whom he had respect – and he had never so thoroughly hated anyone before as he did her.

Was it even fair of him to say that he hated her? Perhaps that wasn't an accurate description of his feelings. He certainly resented her – oh, he resented her. He resented her so much that he wanted to give her a slap…

But did he hate her?

Hating her for something that was not within her control went against all Rabastan's ideals of morality, and though he supposed that some people might not think highly of his morals, he was dedicated to them.

He was pondering his morals, idly running his finger along the gilt edge of one of the pages of his book, when he heard a scuffling and Bellatrix's voice. He immediately started to stand to leave, but was stopped by what she was saying.

"–don't see what the use is in us getting married if you can't keep it up long enough to get me pregnant."

Rabastan froze in place. His throat tightened a little and he felt a flush rise in his cheeks.

_He wouldn't interrupt. He wouldn't want to interrupt the discussion of his brother's sex life…_

_He did want to listen to it, though._

"Keep your voice down, Bella," Rodolphus hissed.

"Pardon me for being just a _little_ bit upset that my boyfriend can't get off unless he closes his eyes when he's around me–"

"You're being dramatic, Bella! I have some other things on my mind–"

"What else do you have on your mind?" Bellatrix's voice rose to a shrill screech and Rabastan shrank down in his seat, listening as hard as he could for every word. Anything that indicated that there was trouble between Bellatrix and Rodolphus was good news to him.

"My brother–"

"Your _brother_?" Bellatrix shrieked, and Rabastan's breath caught. A flush rose in his cheeks and he bit down hard on his lip.

_He would not think about what sort of thoughts Rodolphus might have been having about him. He would not._

"Yes, my brother," Rodolphus snapped. There was a dull thud, as though he had slammed his hand down on a desk or a bookshelf in frustration. "Is that a problem, Bellatrix? Don't you like the idea that I might care about him?"

"No, I don't like that idea – not if it's going to interfere with our relationship," Bellatrix snapped back.

Rabastan stood up. His heart was pounding against his rib cage and he felt little thrills of terror go through him at the thought that they might see him, but he _needed_ to get closer. He needed to see his brother's face when he said that he cared about Rabastan. He needed to see Bellatrix's look of dismay.

He edged forward, between bookshelves, until he caught sight of Rodolphus. His back was to Rabastan, who quickly ducked out of sight behind a shelf of dusty romance novels that his mother had collected over the years but had never read. Peering out between them, he could see Bellatrix's face. Her cheeks were blotchy and red and her eyes brimming with tears.

_Good._

It gave him a wonderfully deep sense of satisfaction to see her like that.

"He's sick, you know–" Rodolphus began.

"Oh, as though that's something _new_!" Bellatrix sneered. "Yes, poor ickle Rabastan is ill and has been for his whole life – do you think you're going to be able to do something new about it? If you could make any difference for him, don't you think you would have been able to by now?"

"I've done plenty for him!" Rodolphus sounded highly offended and Rabastan could see his brother's shoulders tensing. "You have no idea what I've done for him. You have no idea what his life is like – what _our_ lives are like!"

"No! I don't! And, you know, Rod, I won't ever be able to know what your lives are like if you don't bother _explaining_ to me!"

"You wouldn't understand!" Rodolphus raised his voice, and Rabastan thought, from the sliver of her face that he could see, that Bellatrix looked afraid. He enjoyed it. "You don't understand any of this! You don't understand him or me and you only make a fool of yourself when you try to! But you know – you _know_, Bellatrix, that I don't- I don't _object_ to you considering your sisters to be a higher priority than I am–"

"We're different in that way, then," Bellatrix hissed. "Maybe you don't think it's a problem that I care about my sisters – well, maybe that's just because I'm not so unhealthily _obsessed_ with them that I can't sleep with you, the way you are with Rabastan!"

Rabastan's knees were weak. The thought that he had come between Bellatrix and Rodolphus – that Rodolphus's mind had been on him when he was in bed with Bellatrix…

"What are you going to do when he dies?" Bellatrix challenged, and the warm sensation that had been travelling through Rabastan's lower belly as he thought about his brother being so preoccupied with him that he couldn't make love to Bellatrix turned cold. "When he's dead – and you know as well as I that it won't be a long time now – what are you going to do? Go into mourning for the rest of your life?"

Rodolphus did not respond, and Rabastan could feel tension palpably in the air. His heart skipped a beat, and he thought that even Bellatrix must have realized that she had crossed a line. Not that she would ever admit to it – the proud little bitch of a girl wouldn't _be able_ to…

"Are you saying," Rodolphus asked, and his voice shook with suppressed anger, "that because Rabastan's going to die soon, I ought to- I ought _not to care about him while he's alive?_"

"You- you make it sound heartless, Rod…" Bellatrix strained to let out a small laugh, but it sounded horribly forced, and Rodolphus stepped forward and caught her by the front of her dress, yanking her forward.

"It was heartless. Don't _ever_ say _anything_ like that about my brother again, do you understand me? Don't _ever_ tell me not to care about him."

"I won't!" A note of panic rose in Bellatrix's voice, and Rodolphus shoved her backwards, hard, sending her stumbling into a bookshelf.

"Good," he hissed. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm just going to read for a while – or would you rather that I spent that time in bed with you? Since that's _clearly_ all you care about in the world–"

"That's unfair, Rodolphus!"

"No, it's true!" Rabastan did not see his brother losing his temper often, and it was an almost frightening display when he did. He felt sure that if Bellatrix kept pushing him like this, there would be an explosion, and Bellatrix would dearly regret saying such things to Rodolphus. Oh, and Rabastan would _love_ it – he would stand there and watch while his brother tore her apart with his sharp, harsh, cruel words and he would love every second of it…

"But–" Bellatrix began, but Rodolphus had already turned and stalked away from her. Rabastan drew back against the shelf and prayed that his brother would pass him by without notice, which, thankfully, he did.

When he turned his attention back to Bellatrix, tears were running down her cheeks.

She stared silently after Rodolphus for several long moments, then raised her hands and wiped the tears from her face with her hands. She looked like a child who had been more severely reprimanded than she felt she deserved.

_She looked how Rabastan had used to feel after his father had ever told him off. How he had felt before he stopped caring._

And he _almost_ felt a twinge of sympathy for her.


	11. Chapter 11

Rabastan found it difficult to look at Bellatrix after that. Seeing her looking so vulnerable had shaken him – he was so used to Bellatrix being strong and powerful and impossible to tear down that seeing her in such a state had distressed him. Whenever he saw her, he wondered whether her brave face was just a front to hide how she felt.

But he did not dwell on it. He preferred not thinking about Bellatrix, where he could avoid it, and after the fight, Rabastan was sure that he would be able to spend more time with Rodolphus, to remind him that he, Rabastan, should be the most important person in his life. It had given him such hope to hear Rodolphus telling Bellatrix that he cared about him…

But Rodolphus was distant. He did not look at Rabastan over dinner that night, nor did he come to his bedroom to ask whether he needed anything before he went to sleep. Perhaps that should not have disappointed Rabastan – after all, having his brother come to check on him at night was something that he should have outgrown – but he felt strangely empty when he woke the next morning and realized that Rodolphus had never come to see him.

But the emptiness he felt then was nothing – nothing at all – in comparison to what he felt when he came downstairs.

Maria and Rodolphus were sitting in the parlour. Rodolphus's face was stony and impassive, but Maria was smiling more widely than Rabastan had ever seen her, and she was dabbing tears off of her cheeks.

"Mother?" Rabastan said tentatively. "What is it? What's happening?"

"Oh, Rabastan…" Maria said, and her voice was choked with emotion. "Cygnus Black has just left – the date for the wedding has been decided…"

Rabastan felt ill. He clutched the frame of the door and stared from his mother to his brother and back.

_No. No, if the date had been chosen, that meant that there was really no going back about it. If the date had been chosen, that would mean that the Blacks would start sending out their invitations to all the far-thrown members of the family, and then there would be no way to stop the wedding. Then, it would be real…_

"What- what is the date?" he managed to ask.

"June," Rodolphus said, before Maria could answer, and Rodolphus's voice was as cold and hard as his mother's was thick with happiness. "June twenty-first. The summer solstice. Isn't that just perfect?" The way he said it made Rabastan hope – hope _desperately_ – that his brother didn't think it perfect at all, but it was difficult to tell.

"It's… it's…" he said, but he couldn't think of any words to describe how it was.

Rodolphus stood up. "I'm going to go talk to Bellatrix. She'll be ever so eager to hear all about the plans, you know." His voice was tinged bitterly with sarcasm, which Rabastan heard, and which made his stomach leap, but which apparently was missed by Maria.

"Yes, go tell her, darling," she said. She reached out and touched Rodolphus's arm. "I'm ever so proud of you, you know…"

"There's no reason to be proud of me. I haven't done anything."

Maria dropped her hand as if she had been stung. She looked up at her older son with an expression of hurt and Rabastan had to struggle to keep he sneer off his face. He _loved_ Rodolphus's harshness, and he _loved_ that Rodolphus had the nerve to sting Maria.

"I… I only meant…" she stammered. "I'm proud of you for being such- such a good son… the sort that any mother would want…"

_Unlike me._

As quickly as Rabastan's spirits had risen at Rodolphus's behaviour, they came crashing down again. Of course, Maria hadn't _meant_ to imply that Rabastan was an inferior son – or, at least, she would claim that she hadn't meant to if Rabastan dared to ask her – but all of them knew it. Rodolphus was strong and Rabastan was weak, Rodolphus was brave and Rabastan was cowardly, Rodolphus was clever and Rabastan was slow, Rodolphus was going to be married without complaint and without doubt that he would be able to father many children…

"Thank you, Mother," Rodolphus said quietly, then he slipped out of the parlour. Rabastan stood, frozen and staring at his mother with contained hatred.

"Rabastan," Maria said, standing up and approaching him. "Is this not wonderful news? Aren't you happy for your brother? It is _wonderful_ that the wedding should be so soon – and you might be married to Andromeda before the end of the summer…"

_That is the last thing that I want._

"It's wonderful, yes," he told her quietly. His voice sounded insincere, almost scornful of the whole matter, but he hoped that his mother would be too consumed by her fine fantasies of having her sons married to the two daughters of the Black family to be able to notice his disgust. "Very… exciting."

"Rodolphus and Bellatrix will make a beautiful couple," she said. She was gazing at the door, where Rodolphus had left, and she sighed dreamily, as if she was the bride, not Bellatrix. "They will be wonderful… and the children–"

"What if they don't have children?" Rabastan interrupted. Blood rushed in his ears and he had to bite on his tongue to stop himself from lashing out any more harshly. Maria looked down at him with surprise.

"Why, what do you mean, what if they don't have children? Of course they will have children. Why would they not?"

"Father says that some men in the family have difficulty fathering children," Rabastan said. He knew it was reckless – he knew that, if Joseph had wanted him to share the information, he would have made the speech at the dinner table, not in the privacy of his study.

Maria went pale.

"Silly…" she said, her voice quivering a little. "The Lestranges are- they are mostly- most are quite capable, and those who aren't have- there are potions that they–"

"Father says that children born with the help of potions are at risk."

"Nonsense!" Maria snapped. Colour was rising in her cheeks again, blotchy and dark. "And Rodolphus is quite strong enough to father all the children that he and Bellatrix want! Don't you think so, Rabastan? Do you think your brother is- is _impotent?_"

_No, I most certainly don't._

"I don't know," he said, and raised one shoulder in what he meant to be an airy gesture of confusion. "I was only thinking that perhaps he _might_ be."

"He isn't!" Maria told him, and her voice was shaking terribly now. "There is nothing at all wrong with your brother, and if there was, there is absolutely _no_ risk in a man taking potions to improve his fertility!"

"How do you know, Mother?"

Maria opened her mouth, glaring down at Rabastan, then snapped it closed again. He saw her clenching her jaw.

"I simply know," she said. "I know… people… who have had children with the assistance of those potions and the children were- were… there was nothing wrong with them, and if your brother needs those potions to have children, he will use them!"

"Fine." Rabastan could not help being a little surprised at the vehemence of his mother's responses. And he wondered who she had known who had used the potions…

"Now, go upstairs, Rabastan, dear," Maria said, and he could tell how hard she was trying to sound calm. "School is starting soon and you ought to be all packed before you go…"

"Yes, Mother," Rabastan told her. He backed out of the room slowly, keeping his eye on her, and just before he turned away, he saw her slump down into her armchair and bury her face in her hands.

He thought about it while he dragged himself back up to his bedroom and began to pack his trunk. Maria was prone to outbursts of emotion – more than ever, when important matters such as her older son's marriage were being discussed – but Rabastan had not expected the idea that Rodolphus might be impotent to put her into such a state.

_She is only concerned about the family line not being continued._

But she had him. She ought to know that she had him to carry on the family line if Rodolphus proved incapable. Yes, he was not as strong as Rodolphus was, but surely that didn't mean for _certain_ that he would be incapable of fathering children.

_She might know…_

"She doesn't know!" Rabastan whispered out loud. "No one knows!"

He would have to stop driving himself mad over what he had done. No one knew what he thought about Rodolphus – not his mother, not his father, and certainly not Rodolphus himself.

Perhaps, he thought, it would be easier to put the matter out of his mind when he was at school. Rodolphus would not be there, and neither would Bellatrix. Letters from his parents would surely be few enough and far enough between that he would be able to put the whole matter of the wedding and of his own fantasies out of his mind entirely.

Of course, he would also have to see Andromeda all the more.

And he wasn't sure how long he could hide what he felt from her.

Out of all the people who he had, in his paranoia, thought might know how he felt, she was the only one who he feared might actually confront him about it.

And, worse, she would be the most difficult to lie to.


	12. Chapter 12

Rabastan tried to keep his eyes off Andromeda when they were both dropped off at Platform 9 ¾. She was arguing in a low voice with Bellatrix, who seemed intensely displeased by whatever she was saying. _Good_. Rabastan felt a small rush of satisfaction every time that insufferably smug smirk was wiped off Bellatrix's face.

"Be good," Rodolphus told Rabastan quietly. Maria and Joseph had not seen fit to go with Rabastan to the station ("You're a big boy; you can go by yourself," Maria had said airily), but Rodolphus was there, with his hand on Rabastan's shoulder, so protective…

"I will be." Rabastan looked up at his brother and felt a wrenching pain in his stomach. It would be _months_ before he would see Rodolphus again. No matter how many terms passed, he could not get used to parting from his brother, knowing that he would not see him again for so long. And even though he tried to tell himself that it was a good thing that he and Rodolphus would be separated, he wanted nothing more than to cling to his brother and never let go.

But he didn't.

Rodolphus squeezed his shoulder gently. "You'll be all right, won't you? You have all your potions, your medicines…?"

"Of course I do," Rabastan said quietly. He didn't want to talk about the medicines that he had to take – ones that cemented his position as inferior to Rodolphus. Rodolphus didn't need those potions just to stay alive…

"Write to me often," Rodolphus told him, then squeezed his shoulder again. "Just one a few more months – you're almost done school, Rab. You realize that?"

"Of course," he said. He wished that Rodolphus would just _shut up_ so that he could spend a few long, glorious moments staring into his eyes. But he didn't.

Rodolphus drew Rabastan into a tight hug and he rested against his brother's body, listening to his strong, steady heartbeat and feeling every breath that swelled in his chest. It was wonderfully, beautifully comforting to be held so tightly. Maria and Joseph never held Rabastan like this – Maria's hugs were bone-crushing and brief, smothering him and then letting go and forgetting that he existed again, and Joseph barely touched him.

Tears sprang to Rabastan's eyes and he ducked his head quickly, hoping that Rodolphus didn't notice.

"I'll see you in June," Rodolphus said, then the train whistle blew, signalling just a few minutes before it left, and Rabastan had to leave his brother, hurry himself onto the train, before he could say any of the things he wanted to. He couldn't even say _I love you_.

Perhaps that was for the better – perfectly brotherly though the phrase was, it might have been best that Rabastan was not given a chance to say it. Rodolphus might be able to detect a note of strangeness or longing in his voice that should not have been there.

He stood near the doors of the train instead of finding a place to sit down for some time, staring out the narrow window at the platform until the train pulled away. Bellatrix had gone over to Rodolphus and they were immersed in conversation when the Hogwarts Express started to move and Rabastan lost sight of them.

He wanted to be sick. They made him sick, the two of them, so sappy and tender when they were together. They didn't fight anymore, much as Rabastan silently prayed for them to – or perhaps they did fight, but they hid it well.

Rabastan turned away from the doors at last and started dragging his trunk along the car, searching for an empty compartment. Each one he passed was filled with cheerfully chattering students who he very much disliked the idea of spending the journey with.

The last compartment of the car was very nearly empty, and when Rabastan saw that three of the four seats weren't occupied, he started to step in and request to sit down, until he saw that it was Andromeda who was in the fourth seat. He started to step away, but she had already seen him, and she stood up, smiling widely.

"Rab," she said. "Come sit with me."

"No… I don't want to disturb…" he stammered, but Andromeda grabbed his trunk firmly and dragged it in. She was much stronger than he was.

"Come on," she said. "Just because we're going to be married, doesn't mean that we have to hate each other, you know."

He could think of no way to refuse her, so he sank down across from her and tried not to meet her eyes. _Stupid, manipulative bitch. She knows I don't want anything to do with her._

"We used to be friends, remember, Rabastan?" Andromeda said, a little more loudly than he thought was strictly necessary. He looked up at her reproachfully, hoping very much that no one was overhearing them. He didn't like having details of his private life being made public – a side effect, he supposed, of being as much in the public eye as all children of Pureblood families were.

"I don't understand why you hate me so much, all of a sudden. You and I both know that I don't want to marry you, so why are you purposefully making this miserable for me?"

"I haven't done anything to you," Rodolphus told her, keeping his voice quiet and hoping that she would take the hint and lower her own. "I'm not falling over myself to marry you, but I don't hate you." _Lie._

"Don't give me that, Rabastan." Andromeda sounded disgusted. "You're looking at me like I'm- like I'm not _worthy_ of you."

"I don't think anything like that."

"What do you think, then?" she demanded. She stood up, bearing down on him, and he shrank away. Andromeda was bloody _intimidating_ when she wanted to be. "Because I know that this goes past just _not wanting to marry me_."

"No, it doesn't!"

"And come to that," she continued, "I don't think you have any proper reason for not wanting to marry me! I think you're just acting this way to be stubborn!"

"I most certainly am not!"

Rabastan was not going to just sit there and let Andromeda berate him like that – he didn't have to. She wasn't his superior. He stood up and pushed her back firmly, and her eyes flashed dangerously. She looked so much like Bellatrix when she was angry.

"All right," she hissed. "_Why_ don't you want to marry me, if you have a proper reason?"

"You tell _me_ why _you_ don't want to marry _me_!" Rabastan told her. It was a stupid tactic – not likely to win him the fight – but he needed to distract her while he summoned up some sort of answer. Any sort of answer except the truth.

"Fine," Andromeda hissed. She drew herself up tall, squaring her jaw. "I'll tell you why I don't want to marry you–"

"Why, then?" Rabastan taunted. She had taken the bait; he would have time enough to formulate some sort of answer while she told him.

"Well!" Andromeda's face was slightly pink and she shook with anger. "It's because I fancy girls, don't I?"

Rabastan had already opened his mouth to respond with some sharp, cutting remark, when the meaning of what she had just said occurred to him. He stared at her, lip hanging slightly open.

"Don't just stand there like an idiot!" Andromeda's cheeks were quite red now. "You got your answer, didn't you? And you'd damn well better not tell anyone, because my parents would kill me if they knew…"

"You… fancy girls?" Rabastan was having trouble understanding. She had said it simply, plainly, and yet he couldn't quite force the idea to become clear in his mind. "You… fancy them like- like…?"

"_Yes_," Andromeda said through gritted teeth. "I fancy them like a man would. I'd rather go to bed with a girl than with a boy. Are you happy now, Rabastan? That's why I don't want to marry you – is that good enough for you?"

He nodded dumbly. His mind was filled instantly and completely with images of Andromeda tangled among bed-sheets with another girl, and the idea did not repulse him so much as intrigue him.

"You _aren't_ going to tell anyone, _are you_?" she demanded. She was reaching for her wand. "I swear, I'll kill you if you tell anyone, Rabastan!"

"I won't," he said, all the anger and defensiveness that he had felt before draining away. To his own ear, he sounded almost absent, thoughtful. And he _felt_ thoughtful.

_If Andromeda would rather go to bed with a woman than a man, maybe she'd be able to sympathize with him…_

"I think I'm going to leave," Andromeda muttered. She pushed past Rabastan and left him sitting mutely in the compartment.

Maybe, he thought, he would do well to be kinder to her.

There was a chance that she might be the one person who would understand him.


	13. Chapter 13

Rabastan didn't know how to approach Andromeda. She kept her distance from him, and he was unsure as to whether she was staying away because she regretted telling him. It must have been frightening, he thought, to tell anyone else about having such feelings.

More than once, he tried, in the privacy of his own mind, to come up with a way of telling her. He tried to think what he would say to make it seem as normal as he could. But how could he say it?

He wished that she would ask him again why he didn't want to marry her. That would be the easiest way for him to tell her – but perhaps that would just make her annoyed that he had not told her in the first place. His heart sped up when he tried to imagine how the conversation would go.

_Why don't you want to marry me?_ he could imagine her saying.

_Because I fancy men_, he would say, simple and clear, as free of euphemism as it had been when she had said that she fancied women. That was already an oversimplification of the matter, he thought – perhaps it was easy for Andromeda to understand what she wanted, but it wasn't easy for him. He didn't fancy men – not all men, at any rate. He had paid quiet attention to the discussions that girls _constantly_ had over which boys were most attractive, and he had looked at them with critical eyes, judging his own reactions. Some of them were handsome, he thought, but not _terribly_ handsome. They didn't _arouse_ him – even acknowledging their appearance was more of a clinical and objective observation than an admission of his attraction to them. It wasn't really any different from how he could look at women and see that some were pretty and some were less pretty and he didn't care much either way.

And besides, after those two lines of dialogue – "Why don't you want to marry me" and "Because I fancy men" – the image of the conversation that he held in his mind fell apart. He could imagine too many reactions that she might have.

_Why didn't you tell me in the first place?_ she might demand, and Rabastan did not know how he could explain that he hadn't even been able to admit it to himself. He might say that he hadn't told her because he still wasn't _quite_ sure, but then she would scoff at him and tell him not to act like that was his reason if it really wasn't.

Or she might ask something even worse.

_Do you fancy anyone particular_? she might ask, and what could he say to that?

Andromeda could understand – or, at least, he _suspected_ that she would be able to understand – what it was to be attracted to someone of the same gender, and he expected that that would come with an understanding of what it was like to wish for a relationship that was taboo. But surely she would consider Rabastan's desire for his brother to be too much. Surely she would be as disgusted as anyone else by that.

So Rabastan kept quiet. On the few occasions that Andromeda and he were together – alone on late nights in the Slytherin Common Room, or when there were no seats at the table in the Great Hall except beside each other – he would open his mouth and close it over and over, trying to force out enough words to strike up a conversation that could eventually lead to his confession.

But he never had the nerve.

As weeks went by, time began to blur his memories of what things had been like that winter, with Rodolphus. When, time and again, he could not be aroused by the thoughts of other men (not that he was trying too _terribly_ hard, and he didn't dare to think too hard about Rodolphus), he began to believe that what he had experienced was nothing more than a bit of pent-up frustration that had manifested in the form of being attracted to his brother. After all, his brother was the person who was near him most – surely, if there had been anyone else with whom Rabastan spent a great deal of time, he would have lusted after them instead. He told himself quite firmly that what had happened was _not_ a signal that he really did fancy men, nor that he had any sort of real desire for his brother.

And he almost managed to convince himself.

By spring, when the prospect of returning home and seeing Rodolphus and Bellatrix's wedding loomed, Rabastan had quite come to terms with the whole matter. When he felt twinges of jealously, he told himself that he was only jealous of the emotional intimacy that he and Rodolphus had shared and that Rodolphus would now grant to Bellatrix. It was perfectly reasonable for a boy to be jealous of his brother's wife when the brother had been as important in his life as Rodolphus had been in Rabastan's. It wasn't any more shameful or connected to lust than, for example a child not wanting their parent to remarry.

Thinking of Bellatrix no longer filled Rabastan with the visceral hatred that it had last winter. Bellatrix would make a good wife for Rodolphus, Rabastan thought. And his brother deserved a good wife. She was rich, and she was beautiful.

But thoughts of Rodolphus and Bellatrix would not stop entering his mind. It became murderous work to try to study for his exams, for every time he looked at his books, he wondered what Rodolphus might be doing while he sat hunched over his books. He could not help letting his mind wander and wondering if Bellatrix was spending her evenings lying in Rodolphus's arms. Every time Rabastan's mind was not fully occupied, images of the two of them swam into his thoughts.

_But they were not jealous thoughts. No. They were perfectly reasonable thoughts._

The more he repeated that, the truer he thought that it was.

By the time term was over, Rabastan was quite fully convinced that all his thoughts about Rodolphus and Bellatrix were entirely healthy. By the time term was over, Rabastan was quite sure that he didn't love Rodolphus as anything more than a brother, and that he didn't lust after him or after any other man. The idea of marrying Andromeda was not as hateful as it had once been – in fact, he found himself quite looking forward to the next year, when Andromeda would finish school and they _would_ be married. He thought that the relationship would be rather nice, really. After all, perhaps, if Andromeda fancied women, she wouldn't press him into acting like a proper husband and accompanying her to parties and dancing with her and making love to her every night. Not that he wouldn't _mind_ doing that once in a while, but it would be nicer if it wasn't constantly expected of him. He made an effort to smile at Andromeda when he saw her, and he fancied that she smiled back.

He even thought that he was looking forward just a _little_ bit to Rodolphus and Bellatrix's wedding. It would be pleasant, really, to go to a celebration that would end with his brother being quite happy. It would be nice to see Rodolphus happy, yes – that was what he wanted. He wanted him to be happy.

So when he boarded the Hogwarts Express, leaving Hogwarts for the final time and feeling pleasant twinges of nostalgia for the years he had spent there, there were no thoughts of guilt or shame in his mind. He had quite put away all such thoughts. He would not be ashamed of loving his brother, because the love he felt was not lustful.

Rabastan considered asking Andromeda to sit with him on the journey back, but she turned away from him, avoiding his eye, and hurried into a compartment with Narcissa. Rabastan followed her hesitantly, but when he reached the door of their compartment, they had locked it and pulled the shade down over the window.

So he sat alone and stared out the window, watching the countryside roll past and thinking pleasant thoughts about what he would do over the next year – a year of freedom between completing school and needing to be married. He would like to travel, he thought. Perhaps he would go to Italy. The Blacks had a villa there; perhaps they would let him stay there for a time. That would be rather nice.

When the train pulled into King's Cross Station, Rabastan's thoughts were all on that. His brother was quite gone from his mind.

Quite gone, at least, until he climbed off the train and saw Rodolphus and Bellatrix leaning against a pillar. Rodolphus's arms were around Bellatrix's waist and they looked _dreadfully_ intimate.

And all the thoughts that Rabastan had worked all year to force away came back in a rush.


	14. Chapter 14

Rabastan could barely draw breath as Rodolphus looked up at him and beckoned him over. Bellatrix rested her head on Rodolphus's chest and looked at Rabastan too, and there was a small smirk upon her lips that looked to Rabastan as if she was gloating at him, though it might have just been gratification at the feeling of Rodolphus's arms around her…

_Oh God._

"Rab…" Rodolphus stepped away from Bellatrix and held out his arms. "It's so good to see you again."

Rabastan embraced his brother tightly and an acute stab of desire ran through his body. It felt so unbelievably good to have Rodolphus's arms so tight around him, to feel so safe and protected in his embrace…

"How are you?" Rodolphus asked. "How were your exams? How was the trip back?"

"Fine," murmured Rabastan. He didn't want to talk, he just wanted to rest against Rodolphus's chest and memorize the feeling of his strong, muscular body, the steady beating of his heart, and the warmth of his embrace. "Everything was fine."

"I've missed you…"

"Mmm." Rabastan closed his eyes. He was aware that Bellatrix was glaring at them – he could feel her eyes burning into him – but he didn't care. He wouldn't pull away until Rodolphus did. He wanted the hug to go on forever…

But then Rodolphus stepped back and reached out to help Rabastan with his trunk. "It's exciting, isn't it?"

"What?"

"Being done Hogwarts." He looked at him as though that should have been obvious and Rabastan felt his cheeks colouring.

"Oh… yes," he muttered. "Very exciting."

"I'll see you later, Rod," Bellatrix said, leaning forward and kissing Rodolphus altogether too passionately for such a public place.

He responded, stroking her hair tenderly, and then pulled back and smiled. "Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," Bellatrix agreed, nodding and giving him a silly, doe-eyed little smile before heading off, presumably to help Andromeda with her trunk.

"Come on," Rodolphus said, when he finally managed to tear his eyes off Bellatrix's retreating back. "Mother and Father will be so happy to see you…"

"If they were excited to see me, they would have come and met me at the station," Rabastan muttered, eyes going down to the ground. He didn't want Rodolphus to mention their parents. Their parents just got in the way of everything…

"Is something wrong, Rab?" Rodolphus asked with a note of concern.

_Yes_, Rabastan wanted to say. He wanted to yell it at the top of his voice so that Rodolphus would finally understand how _very_ wrong it was, because Rodolphus was simply refusing to understand_. Something is wrong. I can't stop thinking about you, I've spent all term telling myself that I don't want you and I_ do.

"No, nothing's wrong," he said, and he just barely managed to force a smile. "I'm just a little tired, that's all. It's been a long trip. Let's- let's just go home."

)O(

Rodolphus slipped into Rabastan's room while he was getting ready for bed that night. He looked a bit nervous, but quite determined. Rabastan froze immediately – his pyjama shirt was only half done up and he felt quite horribly exposed.

"Can I talk to you?" Rodolphus asked. He averted his eyes from his brother's body, staring out the window instead.

"Of course." Rabastan sat down on the edge of the bed. He tried to do up the buttons of his shirt. His fingers were shaking terribly and he couldn't do it.

"Here." Rodolphus leaned down and started doing up the buttons for him, and Rabastan shivered a little at the sensation of his brother's fingertips brushing across his chest. It was so intimate, so gentle, and Rabastan felt a bit childish, letting his brother help him with his clothes like this…

"What is it, Rod?" he murmured.

Rodolphus sighed and lowered his hands, looking at Rabastan with a rather desperate expression. "Rab, I know I'm- I'm the older brother and I'm the one who's always supposed to protect you… not saddle you with my problems… but- but I don't know who else to tell…"

Rabastan's heart leapt. Already, his mind was filling with ideas of what Rodolphus might say – _I don't want to marry Bellatrix_, or _I prefer the company of men_, or (oh, God, _please_) _I think I'm in love with you_.

"It's something that Bellatrix told me."

"Oh." He should have known that any of the things he had imagined were far too good to be true, but it still stung a little to think that the only reason that his brother was talking to him was because Bellatrix had upset him. But then, it was good to think that he was going to him for comfort…

"What did she tell you?" he asked, trying to sound as comforting as possible. Rodolphus sat down on the bed and Rabastan edged towards him a little in an attempt to give the strongest air of intimacy that he could manage.

Rodolphus looked away from him. "She made me- she made me promise not to tell anyone… said that she didn't want people to know… but I needed to tell _someone_, Rab." He looked up at him desperately. "And I trust you."

"I won't tell anyone," he promised, then added, a little bit hesitantly, "I'm good at keeping secrets."

"And- Rab, it… it concerns Andromeda too." Rodolphus looked at him a bit warily. "It- it might upset you–"

"It won't," Rabastan said quickly. "It's all right. Just tell me what's wrong."

Rodolphus took a deep breath, then said, in a rush, "They slept together."

"What?"

It shouldn't have been difficult to understand – _they slept together_ wasn't exactly a complicated statement – but the idea caught Rabastan completely off guard. _The idea that another pair of siblings might feel the same way that he did…_

"They slept together." Rodolphus's voice cracked and he put his hand over his face, shaking his head. "I- I just- she seemed like she regretted it, but…" He looked up at Rabastan. There were tears in his eyes, which shook Rabastan to his core. He hated the idea of his brother crying.

"But what?"

"But how can I even _touch her again?_" Rodolphus burst out. He clenched his hand into a fist and slammed it against the bed. "Knowing that she touched _her sister_ like that! It's- it's so _sick_, Rabastan!"

"I- I don't know…" Rabastan mumbled. He felt like his heart was being crushed with every word that Rodolphus spoke. "I mean… what's so bad about it – if they're still willing to marry us…"

"What's so _bad_ about it?" Rodolphus let out a disbelieving snort. "How can you even ask that, Rab? They're _sisters_!"

"I know. It's just – why does it matter that they're sisters, if they can't have children and they're still going to marry us?"

Rodolphus stared at Rabastan. "You're joking, aren't you?" he asked, with such scorn in his voice that Rabastan almost wanted to say that he was because he couldn't stand the idea that his brother thought him so stupid.

"No," he said in a tiny voice. "I don't see why it's so wrong –"

"First off, they're both _girls_. And everyone knows that girls who fancy other girls aren't any good for marriage. _Really_, Rabastan, you know this. And you know what sort of scandal there is when people find out that siblings have been sleeping together too. People would say that that's reason enough to think that the Blacks are inbred, and then no one would want to marry them."

"But Mother and Father are already marrying us off to Bellatrix and Andromeda, so why–"

"Rabastan!" Rodolphus leaned forward and placed his hands firmly on his shoulders, staring into his eyes. "It's as bad as if you and I slept together!"

Rabastan's felt sick. He stumbled to his feet and pushed his brother's hands away, but before he could even get to the door, his stomach heaved horribly. He fell to his knees and clawed at the rubbish bin, but before he could reach it, he felt a spasm go through his throat and he heaved up the remains of his dinner.

"Rab!" Rodolphus was at his side in an instant, dragging the bin over to him so that he could throw up into it. He wrapped his arms tightly around him and hot tears burned Rabastan's eyes.

_If it's so sick, then stop touching me!_

"It's all right," Rodolphus soothed. He stroked tears from Rabastan's cheeks and held him close. "You're going to be all right."

"N- no," Rabastan whispered. "I'm not–"

"Of course you are." Rodolphus helped him to his feet, pulling him back towards the bed. "You probably ate something bad. I thought the meat at dinner tasted a little bit off…"

They both knew quite well that the meat had been fine. Rodolphus was only trying to convince himself otherwise to make an excuse for Rabastan's sickness. He didn't want to consider the possibility that it was something serious. That was a threat that had hung over their heads for as long as anyone in the Lestrange family could remember – that Rabastan would fall ill with _something serious_ and never recover…

And Rodolphus also wouldn't want to think that maybe it was his fault that Rabastan was ill.

Rabastan had never felt so consumed with guilt. Rodolphus was right – his desires were disgusting, completely disgusting. The way he thought about his brother _was_ sick. He had been stupid to ever nurture them, and he deserved the most intense punishment possible…

His stomach churned again and he leaned over and spat another mouthful of vomit into the bin. Rodolphus rubbed his back tenderly.

"It's going to be all right, Rab," he whispered. "Come on… don't cry…"

Rabastan tried to gulp back his own tears, but he couldn't. The way Rodolphus held him, so gently, so tenderly, only reminded him that he was never going to be able to have him and that it was disgusting – _and, moreover, that Rodolphus thought it was disgusting_ – for him to want it. He should have told Rodolphus to leave him alone, but he couldn't bring himself to say it.

Rodolphus gently wiped Rabastan's mouth, then his forehead, which was slick with cold sweat.

"Go to sleep, Rab," he said gently. "You'll be all right in the morning."

"Stay with me," Rabastan whispered. It was a stupid thing to want, but Rodolphus had always been there to comfort him, and even when he was the reason that Rabastan was upset, he felt better with his brother's strong arms around him, felt better hearing him whispering in his ear that it was going to be all right.

"Of course…" Rodolphus sat back and pulled off his shirt, which he had wiped his hands on and was stained with Rabastan's vomit. Rabastan closed his eyes. He didn't want to see his brother's body, his strong, powerful, naked torso…

_Oh God._

Rodolphus stroked his forehead lightly. "I'm- I'm just going to clean up… I'll be back in a moment," he whispered, and Rabastan nodded, keeping his eyes shut.

He was tired, so tired…

When Rabastan woke up, his bedroom was clean and the sky was dark outside the window. He wasn't sure how much time had passed – it had just been sunset when he had been sick. The room looked as clean and serene as ever it had, and there were no reminders of last night.

Except Rodolphus.

Rodolphus was in bed with him. Even before Rabastan opened his eyes and looked, he could feel the warmth and weight of his body pressed against him. His arm was shifting slightly, and Rabastan was about to turn over and ask Rodolphus what time it was when he heard a soft groan.

Rabastan had to fight against every natural urge he had not to stiffen. He could feel Rodolphus arch his back, heard him breathing heavily, and then, when he took a tentative sniff of the air, smelled something salty, slightly sweet, slightly sour…

"_Oh God_," Rodolphus whispered, and he sounded tearful. Rabastan heard a rustling of fabric, then Rodolphus took him gently by his shoulders – clearly attempting not to wake him, and pulled him tightly against his body.

Rabastan could hear and feel his brother's heartbeat, so much quicker than usual. Rodolphus's arms shook as he clung to him, his fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, and it took every ounce of self-control that Rabastan had to stay limp and pretend to be asleep when he felt his brother's cock – soft, and still throbbing – pressing against his leg.


	15. Chapter 15

Rabastan lay in bed even after dawn arrived and Rodolphus got up and left. He gave Rabastan a quick kiss on the head before he got out of bed, but though he dearly wanted to believe that the kiss was something more than brotherly, it was so quick that he couldn't really justify thinking that, even to himself.

He kept his eyes closed and his body still, and he thought about what had happened.

_Rodolphus had laid in bed with him and touched himself…_

But that didn't mean anything. All that that meant for certain was that Rodolphus – being the strong, virile young man that he was – needed to deal with his physical urges sometimes. It didn't mean that he felt anything for Rabastan. It didn't mean anything of that sort at all – not necessarily.

_But it might._

If he had moved away from Rabastan while he did it, then Rabastan would have been more inclined to believe that it had nothing to do with him. But he hadn't moved away. He had lain close against his little brother, and when he was done, he had embraced him, pulled him on top of him and held him close…

_Oh God._

Rabastan swallowed and sat up, feeling queasy once again. His stomach had nothing left in it that he could vomit up, but that didn't stop him from feeling like he was about to throw up, and he reached for the rubbish bin uneasily, trying to steady himself while he did it.

_God, he felt so sick._

He shouldn't have been thinking about this at all, in any case. He shouldn't have even begun to think about Rodolphus, and he shouldn't be considering what it meant that he had masturbated while he lay in bed with him. He shouldn't be thinking about things like that under any circumstances – Rodolphus had been right when he said that it was disgusting and sick and _wrong_.

_He_ was disgusting and sick and wrong.

That did hurt. It hurt to think that Rodolphus thought that his desires were so sick, but he should have known that he would. After all, they _were_ sick. Part of him had simply been wishing that it would turn out that Rodolphus secretly harboured those desires and would understand when he told him…

But that had been far too much to hope from the beginning.

He should have been happy that Rodolphus at least wanted to talk to him, at least was willing to lie in bed with him. He should have been grateful for that level of intimacy, even though it was nowhere near what he really wanted. He should understand that anything more than that was too much to hope and he was greedy and selfish for wanting it…

He struggled to his feet, gripping the edge of his bedside table as stars popped before his eyes. Getting dressed was difficult, for his hands shook every time he tried to do up a button, but he finally managed it, then staggered out into the corridor. He hoped that Rodolphus was in his room and that he could go talk to him. He could tell him that he was feeling a little ill and lie down with him, and that intimacy would be enough to slake his desire for some time, at least.

But Rodolphus's bedroom was empty.

The sheets were dishevelled and Rabastan wondered if Rodolphus had gone and lain down for a while after he had gotten out of Rabastan's bed. He imagined his brother lying amongst those sheets, perhaps with a few tears of guilt in his eyes…

Rabastan moved towards the bed without even being aware of what he was doing. He reached out to touch the soft sheets and he could smell his brother's scent on them – a pleasantly warm, slightly sharp smell. He glanced at the door, then crawled onto the bed and buried his face in the pillow. It was so soft, so clean, and he breathed deeply, inhaling the smell of it.

Had Rodolphus buried his face here while he thought about what he had done? Had he cried into this pillow and berated himself for touching himself while his brother lay asleep next to him? There were a few patches on the pillow that felt a little cooler, a little damper than the other parts…

Thinking about Rodolphus crying into the pillow did more for Rabastan than anything _ever_ should have.

Rodolphus, usually so strong, so stoic and free of emotion, crying over his little brother…

Rabastan looked uneasily at the door again. No one was there. No one would see if he just…

He pulled the sheet over himself and pressed his face into the pillow, then slid his hand down to the front of his trousers and squeezed himself slowly through the fabric. He was erect already, and he felt a slight throb go through his cock as he touched it.

He could just…

_And what if Rodolphus walks in? What if Rodolphus catches you in his bed?_

The idea of Rodolphus opening the door and seeing his little brother flushed and writhing among his sheets sent a fresh wave of arousal through Rabastan's body. He dug his fingers into the pillow and pressed it more firmly against his face, then fumbled the buttons of his trousers undone and gripped his erection firmly in his hand.

_Just be quick. Just finish it quickly._

He closed his eyes tightly and imagined Rodolphus lying in bed, stroking his own erection, with thoughts of Rabastan in his mind. The images came easily and vividly to Rabastan's mind, and his breath came in short, sharp gasps as he imagined Rodolphus's body bowing and trembling. He imagined Rodolphus's lips parting a little, imagined him whispering his name…

Rabastan moaned out loud, then bit down on the pillow to silence himself while his hand worked faster and faster. _Just finish, just get it done quickly._

He pictures himself reaching out and taking his brother's erection into his hand, stroking it firmly and steadily, and watching a flush rise in Rodolphus's cheeks. _Sick_, part of his mind tried to tell him, but that part didn't matter anymore. The only thing that mattered was the look that he could imagine on Rodolphus's face – lust and pleasure and _so much love…_

He was _so_ close, nearly there, his entire mind full of thoughts of Rodolphus coming into his hand and moaning his name, and then he heard his mother's voice, loud and clear from downstairs.

"Oh, he's upstairs, Andromeda. He might be asleep, but you're welcome to go check."

Rabastan shot out of Rodolphus's bed immediately. Being caught by Rodolphus would be arousing, but being caught by Andromeda would be nothing short of humiliating, and he didn't want her to know what he thought of his brother, even if it was true that she thought the same way about her sister. _He didn't want anyone to know._

He all but sprinted back to his room, but froze in the doorway when Andromeda reached the top of the stairs and saw him.

"A- Andromeda," he said, aware that he sounded completely breathless from a combination of arousal and exertion. "I- wasn't expecting you."

"I wanted to see you." She walked towards him, her eyes fixed directly on his. He was painfully aware of his erection straining the front of his trousers, and he hoped to God that she couldn't see it.

"What did you want to see me about?" he asked nervously, taking half a step backwards almost unconsciously while he mentally begged her to _go, just go, go away!_

"We're going to have to be married soon," she said, and he thought that her voice was shaking a little, "and I know that neither of us really want that, but- but I think that we'd better just… we'd better just accept it and work out what we're going to do about it."

"Ah- all right," he said nervously, unsure as to what to think about that. What did she mean by _work out what they were going to do about it?_

"I mean," Andromeda continued, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking, "I…" She lowered her voice. "You know that I prefer women, but I think I can- I think that I'll be able to… to do all right with you. I _think_ I will."

"I… don't understand."

"I think that we should- should go to bed together." Her face was pink, but she managed to keep her eyes on Rabastan's, not even let them falter. "Right now. Before we're married. So that we can figure out how to do it so that it's as… enjoyable as possible for both of us _before_ we've got rings on our fingers."

"I… I don't…" Rabastan didn't know what to say to that. He certainly didn't want to go to bed with her. But then, he wouldn't _ever_ want to, so what did it matter if their first time was now or after their marriage?

"I just think," she said, and it was obvious how hard she was trying to make it sound all perfectly clinical, "that it will be better for both of us if we have some time to practice. Don't you agree?"

"I… suppose so."

"Good," she said, then indicated his bed. "I don't suppose there's any sense in putting it off, then."

Rabastan swallowed and nodded, but all he could think as Andromeda stepped into his bedroom and closed the door behind them was _I'm never going to want her like I want Rodolphus._


	16. Chapter 16

Andromeda looked almost as nervous as Rabastan felt. Her hands were visibly shaking as she reached out and placed them on his shoulders.

"I'm- going to kiss you," she said tentatively. "Is that all right?"

"Of course," Rabastan told her, and he closed his eyes when her lips pressed against his. He didn't want his first time to be like this, but what could he do? He couldn't very well tell her to stop, especially when they both knew that they would have to do it sooner or later, one way or another…

"Are you a virgin, Rab?" Andromeda whispered, pulling back from him. Her voice trembled as much as her hands and she looked quite horrified when he nodded.

"Is- is that- did you expect me _not_ to be?" he asked, also tensing up. He didn't know how anyone could assume that he was anything _but_ a virgin – why would anyone ever want to sleep with him, after all? Andromeda was only doing it because her family was all but forcing her to…

"I suppose," she said quietly. She reached out and touched his cheek almost tenderly. "You are… well, you're rather handsome, you know, Rab."

Rabastan smiled shyly in spite of himself. "You think so?"

"Yes, I do." Andromeda seemed a little more comfortable now, a little less awkwardly clinical. "You are. You're… you're not at all bad, for a boy."

A flush rose in Rabastan's cheeks. No one had ever said anything like that to him before, except perhaps Rodolphus, who he was _sure_ only said them because he was his brother and did everything that he could to make him happy.

_Except the one thing I _want_ him to do…_

_Don't think about Rodolphus!_

"Are you all right?" Andromeda asked. "If- if you don't want to do this…"

"I do!" Rabastan said, a little more loudly than he had meant to. He _needed_ to do it eventually, he told himself – and maybe, if he slept with Andromeda, he would decide that she was better than Rodolphus could ever be…

"All right," Andromeda whispered. She still sounded nervous, but she let her hand rest on his chest and it was steadier than it had been before. "Just- just stop me if you want…"

Rabastan nodded, but he was thinking _I won't, I won't stop you. No matter how bad it is._

Andromeda lowered her eyes and set about undoing his shirt with surprisingly practiced hands.

"Have you done this before?" Rabastan asked her quietly, and she nodded, without looking up. "I thought you fancied girls, though…"

"I do," Andromeda told him. "But I- I've tried it with a few boys, just to be sure, you know?" She glanced up at him quickly. "Just to be sure that I wasn't just… confused… you know what I mean, don't you?"

_Exactly what I'm doing._

"I suppose," he said softly.

Andromeda had his shirt off by then, and she smoothed her hands over his thin, bony chest. Every rib was visible beneath his skin and Rabastan wished – _wished with everything he had_ – that he was as handsome and strong as Rodolphus. He had no muscle on his chest, no shape, nothing that any girl could ever find attractive. But Andromeda caressed him gently, almost as if she _did_ like it…

She took his hand in hers and laid it upon her breast. It felt soft and pleasantly warm, but Rabastan felt nothing but mild embarrassment on Andromeda's behalf when he squeezed it. He had half expected to feel a sudden rush of lust as soon as he laid his hand upon it – from the way that some boys talked, putting one's hands on a girl's breast was enough to bring some people to absolute ecstasy. But Rabastan felt no ecstasy at all, and judging by the slightly uncomfortable look on Andromeda's face, she didn't either.

"Why- why don't you… sit down on the bed," she said, after a moment. "And, er- take off your trousers…" Her face was slowly turning to a darker shade of crimson and there was a definite note of embarrassment in it. Rabastan ducked his head, working quickly at the buttons of his trousers. Buttons suddenly seemed far more difficult to undo than they should have…

He slid his trousers off – noting with mortification that his erection was completely gone – and laid them at the foot of his bed before looking back up at Andromeda, who had removed her shirt and skirt. Her legs were pressed tightly together and her arms across her chest, and she ducked her head so that her hair shielded her face from his view.

She looked nice enough, he supposed. Her body had a pleasantly rounded shape, perhaps a bit bulgy around her thighs and belly, but not grotesquely so by any means. But he felt no desire to touch her body, no desire to make it his. She was more like a woman in a romantic painting than a real person.

And he recognized the way that she was standing.

She was standing in the same hunched-up, over-modest way that he did when he was being examined by a healer, when he _knew_ that the healer was looking at all the things that were wrong with him. He could all but hear Andromeda's thoughts – _don't look at me, don't look at me, I'm so ugly._

"You're- pretty, Andromeda," he told her quietly, and she raised her head a little, managing the tiniest of smiles.

"I'm not," she said, and her voice was softer and more vulnerable then than it had ever been before. "But thank you…"

"You are." He knew that he didn't sound the least bit reassuring, and was confident that she was thinking _if I were pretty, you wouldn't just be sitting there._

She took a tentative step towards the bed, then crawled onto it and knelt beside him, and when she leaned forward to kiss him once more, she kept one arm pressed awkwardly over her breasts.

"Do you… know what to do?" she asked him quietly, letting her lips brush against his.

He nodded mechanically – _yes, he knew what to do. Just barely. Just what Rodolphus had told him…_

Andromeda pulled away from him and lay down on the bed, looking up at him with wide, nervous eyes. She let her arms fall away from her body and knotted her fingers in the sheets before she spread her legs open.

Rabastan looked at her and tried as hard as he could to find something about her that was attractive to him. Her breasts, free and bare, pleased him no more than any other part of her, and when he looked down between her legs, he actually felt a little twinge of repulsion.

"Rab? Are you all right?" Andromeda's voice was shaking again, and Rabastan nodded quickly.

"Fine. Fine."

She nodded and spread her legs a little wider. "A- all right, then… whenever you're ready…"

He nodded hastily, then reached down and took his cock in his hand, trying to stroke himself to hardness, painfully aware of Andromeda's position, and how she was probably waiting for him, wanting him to get himself erect quickly so that they could finish things…

_Just hurry up!_

He closed his eyes and let images of Rodolphus fill his mind. It didn't matter how wrong it was anymore – he would worry about that later. He just wanted things to be over fast.

Rabastan felt a twinge of pleasure when he imagined that it was Rodolphus who was spread out and ready upon the bed. He thought of his older brother spreading _his_ legs, thought of himself leaning in to kiss him, and he could feel himself swelling and hardening.

_Just keep thinking of Rodolphus. That's all you can do._

He opened his eyes, trying as hard as he could to maintain the image of Rodolphus, even when he looked at Andromeda and smiled weakly.

"Ready?" she asked quietly.

"Mmhmm…"

"G- good…" Andromeda reached down between her own legs and spread herself open for him with one hand. She reached the other hand out. "Here… let me…"

Rabastan shuffled towards her, swallowing hard. She took him by his shoulder and pulled him down so that he was leaning over her, then kissed him while her hand moved down and wrapped around his cock.

He shuddered a little, and hoped that she would take it for a shiver of pleasure instead of discomfort. She ran her hand over his length and he squeezed his eyes shut and conjured the image of Rodolphus again – if he hadn't he was sure that he would have gone soft in her hand.

He jolted automatically when he felt something warm and wet against the tip of his cock, and Andromeda made a quiet, soothing noise.

"It's all right," she whispered. "Just… let me…"

Rabastan nodded and gripped the sheets as tightly as he could. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried with all his might not to think about what Andromeda was doing. She had placed her other hand on the back of his leg, guiding him forward, and he could feel wet flesh pressing around his penis.

She moved both her hands to the small of his back and pulled him against her, and Rabastan felt himself slide all the way inside her. The tightness was almost pleasurable, but Andromeda's body felt slimy and wet. Rabastan couldn't help feeling like this was unnatural, like he was prodding about in her internal organs, in places that shouldn't be disturbed…

"Thrust into me, Rab," Andromeda whispered. She sounded a little breathless, though he thought that there was a note of pain in her voice – and it _must_ have hurt…

He bucked against her and she sighed. "Good… faster…"

So Rabastan closed his eyes and rocked his hips against hers. The feeling of slickness and pressure around him _did_ feel good, as long as he didn't think _too_ much about Andromeda, and it took Rabastan only half a dozen wobbly strokes before a stab of intense pleasure went through him and his seed filled Andromeda. He pulled out quickly, thanking God that it was over, and looked down at her.

Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut and there were tears on her cheeks.

"Andromeda?"

"Was it good for you?" she asked bitterly. Her voice was choked with emotion and she kept her eyes shut as she drew her legs together, curling up into a ball on the bed. Rabastan felt a wave of horrible guilt. He didn't know what he had done so wrong…

"It was- all right," he said helplessly, reaching out to touch her arm, but she smacked his hand away.

"Fantastic," she told him coldly. "I'm glad it was all right for one of us."

"Andromeda, I–"

"Don't say anything." She sat up, grabbing at her clothes from where they had fallen on the ground and yanking them on with what he felt was unnecessary force. "I don't want to hear it. You can't help not being able to do anything for me – you can't help being a boy."

"I'm sorry," Rabastan whispered.

"Don't be," she told him, standing up. "Just- I'll talk to you later."

She didn't give him a second glance as she rushed out of the room, but Rabastan was sure that he heard her sobbing when she slammed the door behind her.


	17. Chapter 17

Rabastan sat in bed, feeling sick, for a long time. He should have just told Andromeda that he didn't want to sleep with her. She probably would have been relieved if he had. It would have saved them both trouble and discomfort.

How were they ever going to manage it when they got married?

Rabastan couldn't bear the thought of going to bed with Andromeda again. He couldn't bear the idea of having to do it over and over again for the rest of his life – that would surely drive him completely mad. Perhaps there was a chance that she wouldn't want to do it either, but would either of them have the nerve to tell the other that they didn't want it for fear of offending them? Rabastan didn't want to say to Andromeda that he didn't want to go to bed with her because he didn't hate her and he was _sure_ that she would take it as hatred if he said that he didn't desire her, and he suspected that Andromeda would not want to tell him that she didn't want to go to bed with him because she believed that he fancied women…

It would all just be so much easier if they didn't have to be married.

But if they weren't married, then what would happen? Rabastan wouldn't be able to tell Rodolphus how much he loved _him_ – would he have to be alone for the rest of his life? Was there a chance that he would ever fall in love with anyone else?

No. No, he didn't think so.

Rabastan sighed quietly and stood up. He looked in his mirror and smoothed his hair down, wondering if, if he went downstairs, people would be able to tell what he and Andromeda had just been doing. Did he have the same _just fucked_ look about him that Rodolphus and Bellatrix got when they had been together?

If he did, he couldn't see it.

His hands felt numb and unresponsive as he pulled his shirt and trousers back on. Doing up the buttons was a trial, for he could barely stop his fingers from shaking.

He wanted Rodolphus.

He wanted to curl up in Rodolphus's arms and cry into his shoulder and tell him everything.

But he couldn't tell him everything. He would never be able to tell Rodolphus _everything_. But he would still – he _could_ still – tell Rodolphus that he had tried to make love to Andromeda and hadn't enjoyed it. Surely, Rodolphus would be able to offer some sympathy to that at least.

And if Rodolphus didn't understand why that had upset him so much, he would pretend. He would hold his little brother and comfort him because Rodolphus _always_ held and comforted him.

Rabastan glanced in the mirror once more before slipping out and starting down the stairs. He was already forming ideas of what he could say to Rodolphus – how he could tell him that he had just lost his virginity to Andromeda, and how little he had enjoyed it.

Rabastan could hear his brother's voice in the parlour and reached for the door, but his hand stilled briefly and he stopped to listen to who Rodolphus was talking to. He didn't want to burst in on him and Bellatrix – not when he had something so personal and important to tell him. He wanted Rodolphus alone.

But when Rodolphus broke off, interrupted by the person he was conversing with, Rabastan didn't hear Bellatrix's voice.

He heard his mother's.

Rabastan pressed his ear to the door and listened closely. His mother sounded tearful and a bit hysterical, and Rabastan's heartbeat sped.

"–Don't see anything wrong about it," Maria was saying. "It will all be for the best."

"_I _see something wrong." Rodolphus spoke quietly, more meekly than Rabastan was used to hearing his brother talk. "Please, Mother, surely you don't need–"

"I do need!" Maria interrupted sharply. "Your father is of no use and I _need_ another son – yes, need one! Do you think that Rabastan will survive another five years? Do you believe that he will live long enough to carry on the line?"

"I will live long enough to carry on the line," Rodolphus said. Rabastan could tell that he was trying to keep his voice calm and unemotional, but he could hear a catch in it. _And_, Rabastan thought, why was Rodolpus not standing up for him? Why was he not saying that Rabastan was stronger and healthier than people believed, and that he would surely live a perfectly long and healthy life?

"With whom do you intend to carry on the line?" Maria spat. "With Bellatrix? Rodolphus, everyone _knows_ that she- that her tastes do not run towards men…"

"That's not true!" interrupted Rodolphus, his voice rising. "That's just gossip, mother! Bellatrix and I have already lain together–"

"Time and again, yes, and she is not with child yet! What if she never gets with child? What if she is barren – then how will the line be carried on?"

"And what if I am the barren one?" Rodolphus asked. There was a sharp crack, flesh against flesh, and Rabastan jumped.

"You are _not_! You are strong, Rodolphus, and healthy – I _know_ that you can…" Maria's voice turned softer, gentler. "Now please, Rodolphus, for me…"

_Do what for me?_

"Mother, I can't- it's wrong- and the child will not be strong–"

"The child will be stronger than Rabastan is," Maria said. "And what is so wrong about it?"

"You're my _mother!_"

"And?"

Silence fell inside the parlour. Rabastan held his breath, listening as closely as he could, and then he heard Rodolphus say, in a tiny, resigned whisper, "All right. I'll- I'll do it."

Rabastan heard Maria let out a relieved sigh. "Thank you… oh, thank you…"

There was a soft rustling from inside, and then a quiet, masculine moan.

_Rodolphus's moan._

Rabastan felt as if his body was locked in place. A small part of his mind had already formed an idea of what was happening in the room – an idea that became more and more plausible with every passing moment of sighing and moaning and the sound of fabric against fabric. But he couldn't believe it – no, he couldn't. No after the things that Rodolphus had said about Bellatrix and Andromeda. He _wouldn't_ do this.

Rabastan dropped to his knees and peered through the keyhole.

He had to twist his head at an odd direction and press his eye so hard against the keyhole that he was sure the door would leave bruises on his face before he could see what was happening in the parlour, and when he saw, his first instinct was to believe that his eyes were deceiving him.

Maria was lying upon the couch, her dark red hair fanning out on the cushion behind her head and a light flush upon her cheeks. Her bodice was pulled down in the front to reveal one soft, pale breast, and her skirts were lifted around her hips.

And lying between her legs, trousers undone and lowered and lips pressed against her nipple, lay Rodolphus.

Once Rabastan had seen them, once his mind had allowed him to comprehend the idea that his mother and his brother were lying together, he could not tear his eyes away. Maria's back arched as Rodolphus suckled at her, and she pressed her hand against the back of his thigh, drawing him close.

"In- inside me," she begged, her voice a breathless whisper. "Oh, my Rodolphus- take me."

Rodolphus pressed closer to her, one hand moving in between her legs, and Maria groaned, sounding perfectly delighted.

"Oh, _yes_, yes…"

Rabastan wrenched himself away from the keyhole. How could he watch this? It turned his stomach. To think that Rodolphus would lie with his own _mother_ but not with him – surely to make love to his mother was a far worse crime than if he did it to his brother. Rodolphus might have children with Maria, children that would be born with disfigurements and weaknesses…

_But not as weak as him._

That was what Maria had said. She _meant_ to get with child from Rodolphus because whatever became of the child, it would _not be as weak as him._

And Rodolphus – Rodolphus, the only person who ever said that Rabastan was strong or important or worth caring about at all – had said nothing to deny it. He had, if anything, _agreed._

Tears stung Rabastan's eyes. He struggled to his feet – there was no use in waiting for his brother. He didn't want to talk about his experience with Andromeda while Rodolphus's thoughts were still on his mother. Perhaps he would talk to Rodolphus later, some other day, any time but then.

He dragged himself up the stairs, back to bed, and curled up in it. It smelled like Andromeda – her sweat, her juices, not the clean and familiar smells that Rabastan was used to.

_Not like Rodolphus._

Rabastan was exhausted – physically, yes, for sex had been a strain for him – but emotionally, mentally. He slipped in and out of consciousness, sometimes aware of being in bed and sometimes not. At some point, he must have begun to cry, because when he finally woke, he found his pillow wet.

Or perhaps he had not cried.

The first thing that Rabastan noticed after waking was the dampness on his pillow, but the second thing was the sound of quiet sobbing from very close to him. It took a great deal of strength for Rabastan to force his eyes open. When he did, he saw Rodolphus curled on the bed with tears running down his cheeks.

_Rodolphus didn't cry._

"Rod?" Rabastan asked, voice scratchy from sleep. Rodolphus looked up at him and wiped his eyes quickly.

"I'm sorry," he said, sitting up. "I didn't mean to disturb you. I'll go–"

"No." Rabastan sat up as well, so fast that the blood rushed from his head. "What's wrong?"

_As if he didn't know._

And for a moment, he thought that he was going to tell him. He looked at him doubtfully, opened his mouth…

"No, Rab," he whispered. "I can't tell you."


	18. Chapter 18

_Brothers shouldn't keep secrets, Rod._

Rabastan put his arms around his brother and pulled him back down to lie on the bed, but he didn't say anything more about what he knew was making Rodolphus cry. He didn't want to make him angry – this was, after all, the most intimacy he could expect from his brother while they were both awake. Lying in bed together was almost as good as…

"Rodolphus?" Rabastan whispered, nuzzling against his brother gently. "I… I have something to tell you…"

"What is it, Rab?" There was a note of concern in Rodolphus's voice, and Rabastan wondered whether he thought that Maria had put her hands on him as well. Not that having Andromeda put _her_ hands on him was much better…

Maybe he shouldn't tell his brother. He didn't want to upset him right after what Maria had done – wouldn't talking about sex remind him of the crime that he had just committed?

_But he needed to tell him. He needed his help._

"A- Andromeda and I…" Rabastan's throat choked and he swallowed hard. "Andromeda and I… made love."

Rodolphus's eyes widened, and Rabastan watched a barrage of emotions flick across them. Surprise first, then confusion, then a flicker of… resentment, perhaps?

_Jealousy, oh please, let it be jealousy._

"You and Andromeda…?"

"It was her idea," Rabastan said quickly. "She thought that it would be good for us to- to practice it before we're married. She's- she's not even a virgin, so it doesn't matter, does it? And you and Bellatrix are doing it all the time," he added, "so don't try to tell me it's wrong to do it before marriage."

"I wasn't going to tell you that." Rodolphus's face had finally settled into a smile. "I just- congratulations, Rab, really. How was it? It's a good thing that Andromeda has some practice already – girls' first times aren't usually very good… at least, that's what I've heard… so she could enjoy it–"

"She didn't enjoy it, Rod."

He broke off, and an expression of vague confusion appeared on his face.

"She- she didn't?"

"No. She didn't." Rabastan made sure to keep his tone flat, not to let himself express any of the frustration he felt with himself for not being able to please her. "Neither of us did. It was awful. She cried."

"Oh…" Rodolphus looked away. "Well… it _was_ only your first time–"

"It's not going to get better!" Rabastan said, perhaps a little more angrily than he had meant to. "She- she fancies _girls_, Rod. I'm not going to be able to please her- not ever!"

Rodolphus fell silent. Rabastan could tell that he was struggling to find something to say.

"Look," he murmured at last, speaking with what Rabastan was sure his brother thought was a soothing, comforting tone. "I'll talk to Bellatrix–"

"Talk to _Bellatrix_ about how bad I am in bed?" Rabastan jerked away from his brother, eyes widening. "You can't! Do you- do you have _any_ idea how _humiliating–_"

"I'm trying to help, Rab! I thought she'd be able to help, seeing as she _can_ – or, at least, she _used to be able to_ satisfy Andromeda… I thought maybe she could give you some advice…"

"But that–" Rabastan stammered, "that would be like her asking me for advice on fucking _you!_"

All sympathy drained instantly from Rodolphus's face. His eyes narrowed into slits and he shook his head quickly, firmly, lips tightening into a firm line. He shook his head. "No. It's nothing like that. Bellatrix and Andromeda have- done it. You and I haven't. You wouldn't be able to give Bellatrix any advice."

_I wish._

"I- I know," Rabastan stammered. "I just mean- it would be- I wouldn't know what to say- even if you and I _had–_"

"Don't, Rabastan!" Rodolphus pushed him away, edging to the far side of the bed and glaring at him with eyes that were beginning to cloud over with tears. "Don't even _say_ 'if you and I had'. We _haven't_. It's _sick_! It's sick to even _think_ about that!"

"It is _not sick_!" Rabastan shouted, and then his stomach churned when he realized what he had said. "Not sick," he added, hands shaking and palms sweaty, but he could see comprehension in his brother's eyes and he knew that he was thinking _he does fancy me_, and he _couldn't let him think that._ "Not sick compared to you and _Mother._"

Rodolphus looked ready to faint. He grabbed the bedpost, scrambling to his feet to get away from Rabastan and swaying a bit in place. "You- _what did you just say?_"

"I said, it's not sick compared to what you and Mother are doing." Rabastan could hear blood rushing in his ears and the thought _this is stupid, what are you thinking, what are you thinking?_ pounded in his mind, but he couldn't take it back now. "At least, even if I _did_ want you – _which I don't!_ Even if I did want you, I wouldn't be trying to conceive _children_ with you the way Mother is!"

"How- how did you know–" Rodolphus stammered. Rabastan had never seen his brother look this shaken, not when he was lying next to him, not when he had told him about Bellatrix and Andromeda, _never_. "Does Father know?"

"I overheard," Rabastan told him, and he was overcome by a sudden sense of power. He had never before thought that he would be able to make his brother act like this, feel like this, feel like he was under his control. "I heard you two going at it in the parlour–"

"_Does Father know_?" Rodolphus repeated, his voice rising. He grabbed Rabastan by his shoulders and shook him. "Does he? Did you tell him, you little–"

"I didn't tell him anything!" he snapped, pushing his brother's hands away. Stars danced in front of his eyes and he felt his chest tightening, making it difficult to draw breath. "But you know how furious he would be if he heard–"

"Shut up- shut the _fuck_ up!" Rodolphus let go of him and stumbled back, sinking against the wall. He slid to the ground, his head in his hands. "I know! I know how furious he would be – did you think that I didn't? If you really overheard, you would _know that I didn't want to do it!_"

Rabastan swallowed. "I- I did –"

"Do you think I don't know how sick it is?" he demanded. "She wants to _have my baby_, for fuck's sake- because she thinks that it'll be stronger than you! Even though I'm her _son_!"

"And she's right about that, isn't she?" Rabastan muttered resentfully.

"No. No, she isn't! She's wrong- you're stronger than she thinks, Rab! You aren't going to die- I promise that you're not," Rodolphus added when Rabastan opened his mouth to protest. "But how- how am I supposed to say no to her? She's my _mother._"

"All the more reason you should say no."

"You don't understand," Rodolphus told him scornfully. "I _can't_ say no to her. If there was any way for me to, don't you think I would have? But I- I have a responsibility to her…"

"Not a responsibility to go to bed with her!"

"A responsibility to do as she wishes!" Rodolphus pulled himself to his feet, glaring at Rabastan. "But it's not any of your business – she doesn't want _you_. None of this has anything to do with you, so you should just- just keep your nose out of it."

"You're my _brother!_"

"I know!" Rodolphus balled his hands into fists. "I know I am! But that doesn't make this your concern. I don't need your _sympathy_ and I don't need your _help_ – just keep your mouth shut about it from now on, all right?"

"Fine," Rabastan hissed. His voice was choking up with tears – having his brother angry at him was _terrifying_ – but he tried to sound strong, brave and defiant. That was all that he could do.

"If Father finds out, I'll blame you." Rodolphus spoke in a deadly serious voice. "And I'll make you pay – believe me, I will. I don't care if you're my brother, you'll _pay_ if he finds out."

"Fine." He dashed tears from his eyes, sniffing.

Rodolphus sighed deeply, falling silent for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice had softened.

"I'm sorry, Rab," he whispered. "I didn't mean to upset you."

_You did._

"It's all right."

"No, it's not." He approached his brother again, resting a hand on his shoulder. "I'm- I was just upset, you know?"

_And rightly so._

"I'm… I'm going to go see Bellatrix," he said, dropping his hand from Rabastan's cheek and stepping away. "Do you want me to talk to her about you and Andromeda?"

Rabastan managed a little half-hearted shrug – _why not?_ – but all he was thinking was _why are you going to talk to her when I'm right here?_


	19. Chapter 19

Rabastan was curled in an armchair in the library the next day when Bellatrix marched up to him. She stood in front of him with her hands planted on her hips and said, in the most matter-of-fact tone that Rabastan had ever heard her use, "Your brother says you want to know how to please my sister."

He blinked up at her, completely thrown by her tone. "What?"

"Your brother says that you can't please my sister and you want to know how. Isn't that right?"

Rabastan flushed. "He told you –"

"Your brother tells me everything," Bellatrix said smugly. _Like Hell he does_, Rabastan thought, but he said nothing.

"And even if your brother _hadn't_ told me," she continued, "Andromeda did. She said that you were absolutely _wretched_, the worst she'd ever had." She broke off, clearly watching Rabastan for his reaction. He swallowed, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of showing that that hurt.

"So, I thought I'd do a good thing and teach you to do better," she continued, hands moving to her blouse, and Rabastan's eyes widened.

"What? No!" He scrambled back from her, causing the legs of the chair to scratch along the ground. "What are you _doing_?"

She dropped her blouse to the ground and rested one hand on her hip, arching her back a little. Rabastan's stomach churned.

"You want to know how to please my sister, don't you?" she asked. "You don't want to marry her without knowing the sort of thing that she likes?" She moved forward, climbing onto the chair, practically sitting in Rabastan's lap, though she was much larger than him. She took his hand and laid it on her breast. "There, now–"

"No!" Rabastan cried, jerking his hand back. "You- you and my brother are- and I don't _want_ you anyhow!"

"Don't be stupid, Rab," she purred, grasping him by his hair and leaning forward to kiss him. "Everyone wants me."

"I don't!" His voice choked with tears. "I don't want you! Please- get off…"

"No. I'm going to teach you what to do to my sister – it's for your own good, Rab." She grasped his hand and put it on her breast again. "Squeeze."

Rabastan's throat tightened. He was sure that he should have been having _some_ sort of physical reaction from this, but all that he felt was a vague sense of nausea. He tightened his fingers a little around Bellatrix's breast and she exhaled softly.

"That's it." She reached behind herself to unhook her bra and her breasts spilled out, full and firm and pale. "Again. And not too hard – I like it rough, but Andromeda doesn't."

"I… Bellatrix, I–"

"Shut your mouth, you whiny little sod," Bellatrix hissed and he winced at the slur. "Touch me." She waited until he had put his hand on her breast again and then kissed him deeply, her tongue prodding into his mouth. He almost gagged.

"Don't act like you don't like it," she murmured, pulling back for a second. "You do. Everyone does."

"I _don't want you!_"

"Didn't I tell you to shut your mouth?" She took his hand and slid it up along her thigh, beneath her skirt. His fingernails caught on her stockings and they _must_ have scratched her, but she didn't seem the slightest bit fazed by it.

"Here…" she murmured, pressing his palm between her legs and rolling her hips slowly against his hand. "Touch me here. That's what you do… if you ever want to please a girl, you've got to know how to touch her here…"

Rabastan couldn't speak. His voice was being constricted with tears. He bowed his head and bit his tongue. He rubbed his hand against her knickers, praying for it to be over quickly.

"Not so hard, you fucking- ouch!" Bellatrix grabbed his wrist. "_Gently!_ You'll make Andromeda cry if you touch her like that. Oh, that's right – you _did_ make her cry," she added with a sneer. "And here I thought she was exaggerating when she said how useless you are…"

"If you think I'm useless, then why–"

"I'm doing you a favour," she reminded him. "Now…" She lifted her hips and shimmied out of her knickers, kicking them aside, then hitched up her skirt. "Here," she breathed, taking Rabastan's fingers and pressing them against her. "Rub me just _here_…"

Rabastan moved his fingers against her and Bellatrix moaned quietly. "Yes, like that… see… to please my sister… all you'll have to do is keep touching her like this until she finishes…"

He didn't say anything. He moved his fingers automatically, mechanically, preferring that over trying to argue. Bellatrix's face was flushed, and she took his free hand and laid it on her breast, guiding his fingers to her nipple. "Oh… yes, that's right. Keep doing this and you might _almost_ be able to satisfy her…" she murmured, and she sounded to Rabastan more like she was talking to herself than to him. "Never _really_ be able to please her, of course," she continued, "but _almost… _oh, _Andromeda…_" Her voice trailed off into an inarticulate moan, but it seemed _painfully_ obvious to Rabastan that she was doing everything in her power not to think about him.

Which was just as well.

Her body shuddered and then she pushed his hands away, slumping down half on top of him. Rabastan stayed stiff and still, unsure what to do.

"That wasn't bad, Rabastan," she whispered breathlessly, and then her hand trailed down his chest. "Right… here, it's your turn…" Her fingers brushed his crotch and then went still and she looked up at him. "What, you're not even hard for me?"

"Please get off me, Bellatrix," he whispered, voice cracking. "I… I don't want…"

"Most boys would be bursting out of their trousers right now," she said, with a bit of a sneer. "What's wrong with you?"

"I'm not like most boys!" he told her sharply.

"What's that- oh…" A sneer curled on her mouth and her eyes gleamed. "Oh, I see what the problem is here, I see…" She tipped her head back and laughed. "I suppose that I shouldn't be surprised…"

"What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded, panic rising in his chest. His vision was going spotty and he jumped up, backing away from her. Bellatrix ran a hand through her hair, then stretched out her arms and legs, reclining in the chair.

"Well, why didn't you just _say_ that you don't like girls?" she asked, voice all sugar. "You could have saved me and Andromeda both so much frustration… well, that makes everything so much easier–"

Rabastan felt sick for a moment, but that was almost instantly eclipsed by fury. He lurched forward and grabbed her by her arm, digging his ragged nails into her skin.

"I'm _not_ like that," he hissed, more automatically than anything else. "And even if I did," he added, "it's none of your business who I fancy and who I don't. I'm going to be marrying your sister no matter what, and you should just keep your nose out of it!" He shook her – barely managing to move her, but that wasn't the point. She looked absolutely shocked at him. "You just stay with my brother and don't presume that you understand _anything about me!_"

Bellatrix didn't say anything. She stared at Rabastan, dumbstruck.

"Don't tell anyone," he told her, voice shaking. "Don't tell anyone about what you just did to me, and don't you _dare_ tell anyone that I fancy men. Because I _don't_!"

Bellatrix nodded, still speechless, and Rabastan whirled around, half storming and half running out of the library.

He was almost at the door when he heard her call after him, snorting.

"_Like Hell you don't_."

He didn't turn back.


	20. Chapter 20

Rabastan found it difficult to look at Bellatrix after that. He felt sick when he met her eyes, shook when he imagined how he had put his hand in between her legs, felt dizzy and _dirty_ at the mere thought of what she had said to him.

_She knew about him._

No, she _suspected_, nothing more! She didn't _know_ how he felt. She couldn't _know._

_But she did._

Rabastan avoided Bellatrix – both her presence and conversation of her – as best he could, but with her and Rodolphus's wedding approaching quickly, it became more and more difficult to put thoughts of her out of his head. There were endless commitments that went along with the wedding, endless parties and rehearsals and fittings for dress robes.

Andromeda appeared just as bored with the wedding as Rabastan was, and time and again, Rabastan found himself wishing that he had the nerve to talk to her. She was so like him in so many ways – surely, if _anyone_ would understand him, she would…

But she seemed unwilling to talk to him. She kept her head turned away when they were forced to stand at the front of the chapel and listen to Bellatrix and Rodolphus repeat their wedding vows _ad nauseum._ Rabastan wished that he might have been able to share a glance with Andromeda, a knowing little smile that would communicate the sentiment that this was a waste of their time.

But Andromeda never met his eye, and Rodolphus seemed to take little interest in his brother's feelings about the wedding. Rabastan could not hold Rodolphus at fault for that – he had more than enough to be concerned about for himself, he supposed. Rabastan had, since what he had seen in the parlour and what Rodolphus had said to him after that, become acutely aware of Maria's constant proximity to Rodolphus. He supposed that he was happy for his brother, that at least he would no longer be forced to lie with his own mother like a wife…

Rabastan tried to keep that in mind while he dressed for the wedding. He was going to go through the wedding so that he could save his brother. He was doing something selfless. For once, he was protecting Rodolphus instead of the other way around.

But that sense of self-sacrifice was small comfort when he looked at himself in his dress robes and pictured himself standing beside Rodolphus in the chapel. He would have to hear his brother's wedding vows again, and Bellatrix's, and he would have to watch them kiss and pretend to be glad that they were being married, and it might break his heart.

He slipped out of his bedroom and paused at Rodolphus's door. He could hear movement inside.

"Rod?" he said softly, pressing his ear to the door.

There was a thud from inside and then Rodolphus called out, "Just a minute!" Rabastan pulled back from the door just in time for it to swing open.

Rodolphus's dress robes were only half-done up, and his face was streaked with tears.

"What is it, Rabastan?" he asked shortly. He didn't meet his brother's eyes.

"I- I wanted to see you before the wedding… what's wrong?" Rabastan reached out to touch Rodolphus's shoulder, but he shrugged away and glanced from side to side.

"Where's Mother?" he whispered urgently. "Is she here?"

"No, I think she's downstairs – why?"

Rodolphus pulled Rabastan inside and slammed the door shut, then, before Rabastan could ask why he was crying or even open his mouth to speak, Rodolphus had pulled him close and buried his face in his hair.

"She's pregnant," he sobbed. "Mother's pregnant – she told me, and it's _my child, Rab, she's pregnant by me!_"

Rabastan was speechless. He reached up dumbly and put his arm around Rodolphus's shoulders.

"N- no one will ever have to know," he managed at last. He tried to speak soothingly, but Rodolphus pulled back, shaking his head.

"God will know. I'll go to Hell for this, Rab," he whispered tearfully. Rabastan had never heard him in such a panic – nor had he ever heard his brother talk of Hell. Rodolphus was not religious, not strictly at any rate, and it had not occurred to Rabastan that Hell might be a real fear for his brother.

"You won't. God will know it's not your fault."

"I should have told her not to touch me!"

"You couldn't," Rabastan soothed. He ran his hand slowly up and down Rodolphus's back, then guided him to the bed and knelt beside him on it.

"The baby will be sick! Children born between a mother and son…" Rodolphus sounded disgusted when he spat out the words _mother_ and _son_.

"Mother- Mother might not even be able to carry it," Rabastan told him, hoping that it sounded comforting. "She's too old to give birth, really…"

Rodolphus looked at him, tears streaming down his face. "I hope she doesn't." His voice went cold and bitter. "I hope the child dies and I hope it takes her with it."

Rabastan cringed at his brother's harshness, but he could not fault him for thinking it.

"Don't ever tell anyone," Rodolphus begged quietly. "Please, don't ever… I shouldn't even have told you."

"Of course you should have." Rabastan embraced him again – _was it wrong of him to be happy that this situation had given him such a wonderful excuse to touch his brother?_ "I- I can help if you want me to… I'll give her something to get rid of the baby…"

"No!" Rodolphus cried. His eyes widened and he pulled back. "No, you can't! If she found out that you did it- if she found out that I told you that she was… Rab, promise me you won't do anything to make her suspect!"

Rabastan bowed his head. "I only meant to help…"

"I know, I know…" Rodolphus's mouth twisted into a pained grimace. "But you can't help me. Just- just promise that you won't ever tell."

"I won't."

Rodolphus held his brother's gaze for just a moment, then he stood up and turned to his mirror, doing up the fastenings of his robes with shaking fingers.

"Let me…" Rabastan stood and reached out, doing up his brother's robes for him and trying not to let his hands linger for too long on his bare chest.

Rodolphus bowed his head and didn't look up, even when Rabastan was done.

"Go on to the chapel," he murmured. "I'll be there soon…"

Rabastan could tell when he was being dismissed, and though he wanted more than anything to stay with his brother, he could not think of any way to say so that would not anger him.

So he turned away and exited the room, shaking all over, heart breaking on his brother's behalf.

Maria and Joseph were already at the door. Maria was glowing, the scent of her perfume stronger than ever, and, while Rabastan might not have noticed it under other circumstances, he was very much aware that Maria had one hand on her stomach, caressing it softly beneath her dark dress. Joseph, on her arm, looked as stern and severe as ever. His mouth was pressed into a tight line and he stood up so straight that he looked like he was carved from wood.

"Rodolphus is going to be down in a moment," Rabastan muttered. He couldn't stand to look at his parents.

"Lovely, lovely," said Maria, her voice fluttering with emotion. "Oh- there he is, Joseph, isn't he handsome?"

Rabastan turned to the stairs. Rodolphus's head was held high, his mouth the same thin line that Joseph's was, but Rabastan could see that his eyes were rimmed with red.

Maria broke away from Joseph and rushed to the foot of the stairs to smother Rodolphus in an embrace. "Oh, my son, my beautiful… _perfect_ son…"

Rabastan clenched one hand into a fist and dug his nails into his palm. What was she thinking when she put her arms around Rodolphus? Was she thinking about their child? _About how she had destroyed her own son without even realizing?_

"Mother," Rodolphus murmured, and Rabastan felt profound relief when he pushed Maria away, though he did it gently. "We should go – the Blacks will be waiting."

Maria nodded and looped her arm through Joseph's. Joseph offered his hand to Rodolphus and Rodolphus offered his hand to Rabastan, and then they Disapparated.

It was a grey and dreary day, with a fine drizzle of rain in the air – not enough to justify the use of an umbrella, but enough to make everything feel slick and wet.

The chapel where the ceremony was to take place was on the Blacks' grounds – a tiny stone building in the grounds, remnant of days when the Black's estate was home to a family of dozens and many of them unwilling to leave the property, even for religious services. Rabastan had heard Maria speaking disparagingly of it – _my son should have a wedding in a proper church, not a little box of a place that's very existence proved what a group of self-important recluses the Blacks were_.

The wedding party was already assembled by the time that the Lestranges arrived, and Rabastan scanned around for Andromeda. He knew that he was meant to stand beside her and Narcissa, the best man to their bridesmaids, but he didn't see her anywhere.

Rodolphus squeezed his hand and slipped past him, into the sanctuary (_if you could call it back; it was barely big enough to hold the family members that had been invited_). Maria and Joseph followed him and took their seats in the pews. Organ music was already playing.

"Where's Andromeda?" Rabastan asked the nearest person, an unfamiliar woman with a dark shawl covering her face. She shook her head silently.

Rabastan was still looking around for Andromeda when Bellatrix stepped out of the antechamber at the side of the chapel. She was dressed in black lace from head to toe, her head covered by a dark veil held in place with a silver circlet, and she moved with a sort of dreamy slowness that Rabastan had never seen from her before. She was clutching her bouquet of white roses to her breast.

Cygnus held out his arm and Bellatrix took it, and at that moment, the door was flung open and Andromeda stumbled in. Her hair and dress were damp – no doubt from the rain – and her face flushed, but Rabastan had barely a second to take in her appearance before Cygnus was walking Bellatrix into the chapel. He followed them, Narcissa at his side, and Andromeda plucked a flower out of the nearest arrangement and followed swiftly.

Andromeda kept her eyes straight forward for the entire ceremony, no matter how hard Rabastan tried to catch them. He brushed her arm lightly and she didn't even turn towards him.

Only when the priest said _You may kiss the bride_, and the chapel was filled with polite applause while Rodolphus lifted Bellatrix's veil and pressed his lips to hers, did Rabastan have the opportunity to lean close to Andromeda and whisper, "Where were you?"

"It's none of your concern," she hissed.

"Were you with someone?"

She whipped around and glared at him. "I told you to mind your own business!"

"Were you with a woman?" But Rabastan could already see the guilt in her eyes, and he knew what the answer was. "On your sister's wedding day?"

"Keep your voice down!" she snarled. "What I do isn't any of your business! And I swear to God, Rabastan, if you tell anyone that I was…" She mouthed the words _with a woman_, "I will _kill_ you. You have no idea what would happen to me if people knew."

_Don't I?_

Andromeda turned away from Rabastan, fury palpable in her every movement, and Rabastan moved away from her. People were standing up now, milling around, discussing how lovely the wedding was and what a beautiful couple Rodolphus and Bellatrix made, no doubt.

Oh, and they did make a lovely couple. Both of them so tall and elegant – Rodolphus with his strong, powerful build and Bellatrix so slim and womanly…

"Rabastan Lestrange?"

Rabastan started at the quiet voice in his ear and turned around quickly. He had been backing towards the wall, intending slip outside without being noticed, but someone had moved into his path.

"Sir?" he asked politely. He didn't recognize the man – and surely he would have, if he had ever seen him anywhere before, for he was more handsome than any man Rabastan had ever seen before, save his brother. He had a look about him that Rabastan would ordinarily have associated with a tortured artist in a Victorian novel – tall, pale, bone-thin, but with a spark in his eye.

"I've heard so much about you…"

Rabastan narrowed his eyes suspiciously, trying not to think too much about the man's appearance. "From who have you heard about me, sir? I don't believe we've met."

"Your father-in-law is in my… employ," he said, and he seemed to be choosing his words very carefully. "He has probably spoken of me… you likely know me by my title – my followers call me _the Dark Lord._"

Rabastan's throat tightened automatically and he felt perspiration break across his forehead. He had heard of the Dark Lord, of course he had – Cygnus Black spoke of him often, and he was in every newspaper that Rabastan had read over the last three years.

"M- my Lord," he said, bowing quickly. "I apologize – I had never seen a picture of you…"

"No need for apologies," he said with a lazy wave of his hand. "As I was saying, I've heard much about you."

"From Cygnus Black?" Rabastan could not imagine Cygnus saying anything even the slightest bit positive about him. He could barely imagine Cygnus saying _anything_ about him.

"Yes, from Cygnus Black. You pique my curiosity, Rabastan – may I call you Rabastan?" He smiled slightly, a charming little smile that Rabastan could not help but return.

"Of course, my Lord."

"I wonder if you might take a drink with me some night," he said, voice still perfectly polite. "I have some matters that I would like to speak with you about…"

"Speak with _me_, my Lord?"

"Yes, with you." He glanced around at the people surrounding them. "And they are matters that I do not think it would be wise to let everyone at this ceremony hear. If I might give you my address…?"

"Oh- of course." Rabastan felt a flush rising in his cheeks, and his hands shook as the Dark Lord produced a square of parchment and handed it to him.

"Shall we say this Friday?" he asked, still so polite and charming that it was almost uncanny. "Perhaps at six?"

"A- anything you wish, my Lord."

His lips twitched up into a wider smile – one that seemed far more genuine than that which he had given before. "I shall look forward to it."

Rabastan was struck dumb. He couldn't even see _thank you_ or _so will I_, and he stared after the Dark Lord as he turned and slipped out of the chapel.

"You were speaking to the _Dark Lord!_"

Rabastan tore his eyes from his retreating back and looked at Bellatrix, who was standing at a distance, bouquet clutched loosely in one hand, and staring at Rabastan with abject shock.

And – _was that? Oh, it was._ Rabastan could see just the faintest hint of jealousy in Bellatrix's eyes.

_Good._

"I was," he confirmed, letting his lip curl into the faintest of sneers. Let her be jealous that the Dark Lord was paying attention to him and not to her, the bride – she deserved it for taking Rodolphus away.


	21. Chapter 21

Rabastan awaited Friday with mounting anticipation. He didn't know what he expected from his impending meeting with the Dark Lord, only that he had been struck by his charm and poise, and that Rabastan didn't believe that anyone had ever said that they had heard about him before. Maria and Joseph – _probably rightly_ – preferred to focus attention upon Rodolphus, and Cygnus Black…

_What could Cygnus Black possibly have had to say about him?_

Rabastan scarcely knew Cygnus. Oh, of course he _knew_ him, but he didn't have any real relationship with him. He didn't talk to him when he could avoid it.

On Friday night, Rabastan – clutching the Dark Lord's address in his hand and shaking with anticipation – made his way down the stairs and poked his head into the parlour. Maria was sitting by the fire, one hand upon her stomach, reading a book, and Joseph was sitting in another chair and staring intently into the fire.

"I'm going out for the evening," Rabastan said quietly. It felt very strange to say it – he had never _gone out_ anywhere before. He was too delicate for it. And where would he have gone?

Maria made a small noise of acquiescence, but Joseph turned and fixed Rabastan with a piercing stare.

"Are you?" he asked, quite sharply. "Where are you going?"

"The Dark Lord has invited me to his home," Rabastan told him. He straightened up and tried to look as important as the knowledge that the Dark Lord wanted to see him made him feel.

Joseph held his eyes for a long moment, and Rabastan's chest tightened. Was he going to say that Rabastan was not to go? He _couldn't!_

"Be back before midnight," Joseph said, turning away again, and Rabastan sighed with relief.

"I will." That gave him six hours – surely more than enough for the Dark Lord to say all he had to say to him. Rabastan bowed out of the parlour and glanced in the looking glass one more time. He had spent the entire day studying his reflection, trying to determine what the Dark Lord would see when he looked at him. Would he see a boy who had simply tried to make himself look presentable, or would he see a man, a real man, who was respectable and perhaps even a touch handsome?

No, certainly not that. Rabastan wasn't handsome, not like his brother, no matter how he tried to look like Rodolphus. He practiced the small, polite smile that Rodolphus wore so well, but he could not make it look anything but dreadfully forced. Rabastan's shirt and trousers hung from his thin frame so terribly that he looked like he was wearing clothes half a dozen sizes too big for him.

_He looked like a child._

The Dark Lord would _think him_ a child.

Rabastan hesitated in front of the looking glass. Perhaps it would be better not to go. He could spare himself the humiliation that would surely ensue. The Dark Lord would not take him seriously – no one did, no one but Rodolphus…

But he couldn't just _not go._ Turning down an invitation from the Dark Lord was simply unacceptable.

So he breathed deeply and glanced down at the address one more time, then Disapparated.

The address that the Dark Lord had given Rabastan was a flat in London – in a neighbourhood that Rabastan knew was far from the sort of opulence that he would have expected from the Dark Lord – and he had spent a long time mulling over it and wondering why the Dark Lord would choose to live there. Was it, perhaps, a flat that he only used to accept visitors? Perhaps only visitors that did not deserve real respect…

_Stop thinking like that!_

The door of the apartment building was open – hanging off its rusty hinges, in fact, and Rabastan was glad, for he did not want to touch it. It looked dirty. Dirtier than anything he had ever seen.

He glanced down at the slip of parchment again, then started up the stairs, trying to avoid putting his hand on the railing or the wall.

_Thank God that the room only on the second floor_, Rabastan thought. His heart was already beating uncomfortably quickly, and he didn't think that he would be able to stand more than one flight of stairs.

He raised his hand to knock, but his knuckles hadn't even made contact with the door before it creaked open.

"Ah, Rabastan. So lovely to have you."

The Dark Lord looked, if possible, even more exquisitely beautiful to Rabastan than he had when he had been at the wedding. The early evening sunlight lit the room behind him and surrounded him like a halo. Rabastan could see the same glint in his eyes that had been there earlier, and he felt a little shiver run through him.

He inclined his heat. "Thank you for having me, my Lord."

"Do come in." He held the door open wider. "And have a drink – I have some wine. Do you drink, Rabastan?"

_No._ No, he did not. Wine turned his stomach and gave him terrible headaches. But what would the Dark Lord think of him if he said that?

"A little," he said, inclining his head. "Wine would be excellent, my Lord."

"Sit." He indicated a thin sofa against the wall of the flat. "I'll pour the drinks…"

Rabastan perched nervously on the edge of the sofa and glanced around. The flat was very small – he should have expected that from the neighbourhood, but it was still far more modest than Rabastan could have ever imagined anyone living in. Evening sunlight filtered through a pair of plain grey curtains that looked as though they had been mended several times by hand – very neatly, but still mended. Maria would never have tolerated even a single round of mending in anything that the Lestranges owned. It was new curtains or nothing with her.

"Here you are…" The Dark Lord sat beside him and handed him a wine glass. Rabastan lifted it to his lips quickly, taking a sip. He didn't know anything about wine, but it didn't taste entirely unpleasant to him.

"What did you want to see me about, my Lord?" he asked, lowering his glass and chancing a glance at him.

"Oh…" The Dark Lord took a sip from his own glass of wine. "You intrigued me… the things that Cygnus Black said about you intrigued me." He lowered his glass, catching Rabastan's eye and holding it. "And I believed that you might be of… help. To me and my cause."

"To- to the Death Eaters, my Lord?" Rabastan's throat was dry and he sipped his wine hastily, hoping that it would make him feel better. "W- why did you think that? If you'll pardon me asking, my Lord…" He ducked his head, cheeks flaming. _How could he be so stupid?_ "I cannot imagine Cygnus Black saying anything in my favour…"

"Oh, he didn't." The Dark Lord shook his head, swirling his wine lightly in his glass. "He said that you were immature… weak… unintelligent, and not worthy of his daughter's hand."

Rabastan could have died of humiliation. How _dare_ Cygnus say such things about him – and to the Dark Lord! The mortification was unbearable. Rabastan felt tears stinging his eyes and hastily gulped at his drink.

"Why did you want to see me then, my Lord?" he asked. His voice cracked – _damn it!_ And now the Dark Lord would know how upset he was, and how dreadfully childish… he would know that Cygnus was right about him. He downed the rest of his glass.

"Because I don't believe him."

Rabastan choked on his wine. He coughed and the Dark Lord set his own glass aside and put one hand on Rabastan's back, rubbing it slowly. The intimacy of the gesture came as a fresh shock to Rabastan. He swallowed, then said, barely managing a voice above a whisper, "D- don't you, my Lord?"

"I don't." He leaned close to him, his hand slipping away from his back and his eyes fixed so intently on Rabastan's that it felt as if he could see straight into his soul. "I don't believe you are weak. I believe that you are very… very strong… and simply haven't had a chance to learn to express it yet."

"I… I don't know what you mean, my Lord–" Rabastan shied away automatically, but the Dark Lord's hand shot out and his fingers wrapped around his wrist.

"Look at me."

He lifted his eyes again, near shaking with nerves.

"I could teach you to be strong, Rabastan," he breathed. "I could train you."

"I- I don't understand…"

"I want you to be a Death Eater, Rabastan." He ran his thumb across his wrist. "I want you to work for me… _with_ me."

"I… I couldn't…" Rabastan was beginning to breathe heavily. The muscles in his legs had begun to twitch. He curled his toes in his shoes and bit the inside of his lip. "My Lord, I would be- I would be a terrible Death Eater… you should have my brother instead…" It hurt him deeply to have to say it, but he knew that Rodolphus would be a superior Death Eater. Rodolphus would _always_ be superior.

"I don't want your brother, Rabastan." He was leaning closer, ever closer, and Rabastan could feel his breath on his neck. "I want _you_. I believe that you could achieve great things, far greater than him…"

"Do you really?" He felt so _stupid_ asking it, but he couldn't believe that a man as great as the Dark Lord would ever take an interest in him.

"I do… I do…"

"I… could never… be better than my brother…"

"I don't believe that's true," he murmured. "And if you'll only let me prove it to you…" He released his wrist and Rabastan opened his mouth to respond, but before the words could come to him, the Dark Lord's hand was on his thigh and his words turned to a sharp gasp.

"My Lord!"

"You've never had a man before, have you?" The Dark Lord's eyes flicked back and forth across Rabastan's face, reading it like a book. "You've been with women and they make you feel weak…"

Rabastan bit his lips and tongue, silencing himself. This was no suspicion, this wasn't somebody _thinking_ they knew how he felt. The Dark Lord did know. How he knew, Rabastan couldn't have said, but that was it. He knew Rabastan's most intimate desire, the desire that inspired so much fear in him…

"Do you want to have a man?" the Dark Lord breathed, then shook his head slowly. "No, you don't need to answer; I know that you do. Now, my question is…" His fingers skimmed Rabastan's thigh, stroking it with feather-light touches. "If I give you what you want, will you give me what I want? Will you join me, Rabastan?"

_Yes, oh yes!_

"Yes," Rabastan whispered meekly. "I- I would like nothing better than to s- serve you, my Lord."

His eyes gleamed with what could only have been satisfaction, and then Rabastan let out a quiet gasp as the Dark Lord's lips pressed firmly against his.

"I was so hoping that you would agree…" he murmured, voice low and gentle. His hand pressed against Rabastan's crotch and Rabastan thrust his hips forward automatically, catching his breath. The Dark Lord's hand felt so much better than Andromeda's ever could have…

The Dark Lord's hand moved away and Rabastan jumped, afraid that he had done something wrong, but a fresh sigh escaped his lips when he saw the Dark Lord's hands move to the fastenings of his robes. He could feel himself hardening, his trousers too tight now, and his breath came in gasps.

The Dark Lord was as thin as he was.

No, not _quite_ that thin, he thought, as he watched the other man shed his robes. But very, very thin, almost skeletal, and yet he made his frame look so terribly handsome…

"Undress, Rabastan – I'm not going to do it for you." Rabastan thought he heard a touch of contempt in the Dark Lord's voice – _oh, please, let that be his imagination_ – and he hurried to take off his clothes. He could slip his shirt off over his head – _rumpling his hair, but surely that wouldn't matter_ – but his fingers fumbled over the buttons on his trousers. Fresh humiliation choked him while he tried in vain to undo them.

"Oh, here…"

The Dark Lord's hand moved to the buttons and Rabastan could not help but let out the tiniest of moans. His body tensed when he felt the Dark Lord's fingers wrap around him.

"It's good, isn't it?" he breathed in Rabastan's ear. "A man knows what another man wants better than any woman could…" He stroked him slowly, firmly, and Rabastan's back arched.

"Harder, my Lord," he whispered – _begged_ – and then whimpered in frustration when the Dark Lord's hand moved away. "W- what are you doing–"

"My God…" The Dark Lord's lip curled and Rabastan's stomach twisted. _What had he done now?_ "Don't you how men…"

"Yes, I know how men have- how men- yes, I know how!" Rabastan sputtered indignantly.

"Good," he hissed. "Then get your trousers off. I can't have you with them still on."

"I- I thought…"

_Thought that you would._

Rabastan's voice trailed off and he ducked his head. It would be better not to say anything that might annoy the Dark Lord. He didn't want to risk ruining things…

He struggled out of his trousers and his breath caught when the Dark Lord placed one hand on his chest and pushed him flat onto his back on the sofa. A tiny moan escaped Rabastan's lips and every muscle in his body tensed.

"It will hurt…" the Dark Lord murmured. Rabastan felt his fingers prodding at him, gently, skilfully. "If only for a moment…"

"T- that's all right…" he whispered, but he interrupted himself with a sharp gasp when one finger slid inside him. "Ouch!"

The Dark Lord laughed softly, an almost dangerous, predatory sound. "You act as though you've never been touched here before – oh, haven't you?" he added when Rabastan averted his eyes. "Haven't you ever… touched yourself here before?" He was working another finger in, and it _did_ hurt. Tears were coming to Rabastan's eyes. He must have been tearing him open…

"If you can't take this, we aren't going to get anywhere tonight…" the Dark Lord whispered. "Is that what you want? Do you want to stop?"

"No!" Rabastan shook his head wildly. "No, I don't – please, my Lord… I can…" He spread his legs a little and breathed deeply, trying to relax his muscles. "I can take it."

"Good…" He pulled his fingers out slowly and Rabastan winced, but didn't say anything. His eyes moved over the Dark Lord's body and his chest heaved with anticipation.

"P- please hurry, my Lord," he whispered breathlessly. "Please…"

"Be patient…" There was a touch of mockery in the Dark Lord's voice, but he leaned over him and pressed his lips firmly to his. His hands pressed Rabastan's thighs apart, his fingers tightening on his legs. "And breathe deeply."

"I- I am…"

Then the Dark Lord thrust into Rabastan and all thoughts of relaxation – of breathing deeply, of being patient, of being aware that it would hurt – disappeared.

"_Oh!_"

Rabastan felt like he was being torn in half and his body jolted up against the Dark Lord's. He clenched automatically, but didn't have time to relax or adjust to the feeling of having a man inside him before the Dark Lord thrust again. Rabastan's eyes blurred over with tears.

"It _hurts_!"

"Don't be so _weak_." The Dark Lord's voice was husky and breathless and he didn't slow down at all. Rabastan dug his nails into the sofa cushions and struggled to take deep breaths, struggled to relax every muscle that had tensed when the Dark Lord took him. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes to hide the tears of pain.

"Oh… it really is hurting you, isn't it?" The Dark Lord's voice turned softer, gentler, and Rabastan felt his lips brush against his throat. "Now, now, it's all right… you feel _good_, Rabastan." Rabastan's eyes flicked open as the Dark Lord's hand slid up his chest and along his throat. "So good…" he repeated in a tense whisper, and then he brushed against something inside Rabastan and all the pain went away.

A cry tore itself from Rabastan's throat and he arched into the Dark Lord's thrusts. "M- more…"

"Oh, that's the spot, isn't it?" His voice caught. "You may put your hands on me, if you like…"

Rabastan didn't need telling twice. He clutched him desperately and dug his nails into his back and let waves of pleasure wash over him. The Dark Lord felt _incredible_ – so strong and forceful, so much like how Rabastan imagined Rodolphus feeling…

_Rodolphus._

The thought of his brother sent a fresh, sharp stab of arousal shooting through Rabastan's lower body and the next thing he knew, he was covered in something warm and sticky and the Dark Lord was half-collapsed on top of him, breathing heavily and trembling.

"Oh… my Lord…" was all that Rabastan could say, and the Dark Lord silenced him with a finger on his lips.

"You," he whispered, "are going to serve me so well, Rabastan."

"I- I will try, my Lord…" His voice was shaky, but he didn't feel weak. He didn't feel near-emasculated the way he had after he had been with Andromeda. He felt _wonderful._

The Dark Lord slid off Rabastan, but kept his arms around him. Rabastan hesitated briefly, but when the Dark Lord did not pull away, he dared to curl a little closer to him, nestle in his arms the way he might nestle in his brother's.

His body ached with exhaustion, and with the force of what the Dark Lord had done to him, and he stifled a yawn. The Dark Lord's touch was warm and comforting, _safe_ in a way that no touch except Rodolphus's had ever been, and Rabastan felt his eyelids drooping.

_Be back before midnight_, he remembered his father saying, but the memory had barely crossed his mind, and certainly not had time to register, before he was asleep.


	22. Chapter 22

Rabastan was stiff and sore when he woke up. The first thing he was aware of was an itching across his back and legs, and when he shifted a little, he realized that the itching was from a rough, scratchy blanket.

_I don't own any rough, scratchy blankets._

Maria and Joseph allowed only the finest things in their son's bedrooms, and Rabastan had never slept on anything so rough as what he was feeling now.

And someone was lying beside him. Someone warm and still, whose arms were draped lightly around Rabastan's waist…

"Did you sleep well, Rabastan?" the Dark Lord whispered in his ear.

And then he remembered last night.

_Oh, last night._

Rabastan's eyes flew open and he sat up quickly, dislodging the arm that rested across him. His heart beat quickly as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Oh- oh God…"

"Mm? Something wrong, Rabastan?" He reached out and laid his hand on Rabastan's chest. "You aren't having regrets already, are you? Not feeling bad about what we did last night, are you?"

"What we did last night was wrong." Rabastan's voice cracked with emotion and he turned away, grabbing his clothes up off the floor. "I'm- I'm betrothed- and you're…"

"I'm much better than your little wife-to-be, aren't I?"

Rabastan stiffened and looked back at him. "What?"

He had a small, slightly predatory smile on his face, and he pressed his hand against the small of Rabastan's back, pulling him close to him again. "You can't help comparing me to Andromeda, can you? And going to bed with me is so… so much better than going to bed with her that it just tears you apart to think that in a few months, you'll be married to her. That's why you're so upset about this – because you didn't want to know how much you were missing…"

"Th- that's not it…" he whispered, but before he could finish his sentence (not that he knew exactly what to say; something about the importance of fidelity or some such), the Dark Lord had pulled his head down to his and pressed a bruising kiss against his lips. Rabastan's whole body shuddered automatically in response and he resisted the urge to embrace him.

"I hope we will see each other again soon, Rabastan," he murmured, pulling back slowly and fixing Rabastan with that powerful, piercing stare that seemed to look right into his soul.

"I'll send you an owl," Rabastan said breathlessly, as the Dark Lord's hand caressed the sharp angle of his hip.

"Thank you." The Dark Lord sat up, brushing his dark hair back and out of his eyes. "I will look forward to seeing you again."

Rabastan flushed and reached for his clothes again, pulling his shirt and trousers on haphazardly. His hands shook as he tried to do the buttons up.

"Let me…" The Dark Lord spoke in a low and enticing hiss, and he leaned forward to button Rabastan's shirt, letting his fingers linger on his chest.

"I- I had better be going… my mother will be worried." Rabastan felt a knot of humiliation in his stomach and all the fears of being thought a child returned – _his mother, worried about upsetting his mother_…

"Of course, of course…" He lowered his hands and watched Rabastan as he stood. "And perhaps, the next time I see you, we will be able to do something, ah… more substantive than this…"

"Whatever you desire, my Lord," Rabastan whispered. He glanced once more at him – longingly, for the Dark Lord would never know how much he wished that he could stay there with him instead of going home and facing his parents – then he slipped out and started down the steps.

The sun was just rising outside, drawing a faint, hazy pink line on the horizon. The street looked even more desolate than it had when Rabastan had gone up to the Dark Lord's flat the night before. A stray cat yowled at Rabastan as he passed it by.

He didn't want to go home.

He could already picture the scene: Maria in tears, embracing him and saying how worried they'd been, all while smothering him so that he couldn't get a word out to explain where he'd been. Joseph standing aside and asking sharp, prying questions about what he'd been doing.

But the longer he stayed out, the worse it would be.

When Rabastan arrived home, however, he wasn't greeted at the door by Maria in hysterics or Joseph looking cold and suspicious.

The door swung open and Rabastan came face-to-face with his brother. Rodolphus's expression was thunderous and his hands were clenched into fists.

"Where the _Hell_ have you been?" he demanded.

Rabastan shrunk back fearfully. "Rod, I didn't expect–"

"Mother came to Bellatrix and me when you didn't come home!" Rodolphus hissed at him. "Showed up on our doorstep asking if you were with us – in the middle of the night, and us just married!"

"I'm sorry–"

"Oh, _now_ he shows up!" Bellatrix stormed up behind Rodolphus, looking even more furious than he did. "At _dawn_! That's thoughtful of you, Rab – keep us all up all night–"

"I didn't know that Mother and Father were going to disturb you!" Rabastan snapped. He could stand being berated by his brother, but not by Bellatrix. "It's not my fault!"

"You told them that you would be back by midnight!" Rodolphus reached out and grabbed his shoulders, shaking him so hard that his head snapped back. "Where were you? What were you doing?"

Tears of pain and humiliation filled Rabastan's eyes, but he struggled not to let them fall. He pushed Rodolphus's hands off his shoulders and raised his chin, breathing deeply.

"I was with the Dark Lord," he said, forcing himself to sound proud. "He kept me at his home all night. I did not want to disrespect him by asking to leave."

Rodolphus looked suspicious, but Bellatrix gasped. She stepped forward, clutching Rodolphus's arm and leaning towards Rabastan. "With the Dark Lord, were you? What were you doing with him?" Her eyes flicked back and forth between Rabastan's, like she was reading an answer written on his face.

"That's not your concern," he told her, with what he intended to be cold aloofness, but a hint of smug satisfaction worked its way into his voice and her eyes widened.

"You were–"

"_Rabastan!_"

Rabastan had never been so relieved to hear his mother's voice. Anything was better than giving Bellatrix the chance to accuse him…

"Where in God's name- we were so worried!" Maria all but flew down the stairs to him and pulled him into her arms. Rabastan gagged on her perfume and the scent of vodka around her. In the half-second before she buried his face in her chest, he saw that her eyes were bloodshot.

"I- I was with the Dark Lord," Rabastan coughed. The smell of Maria's perfume was overwhelming and disgusting. He pushed her away – he didn't want her to touch him. "I _told_ you that I would be with the Dark Lord."

"And what were you doing with the Dark Lord until dawn?" she demanded.

Rabastan didn't answer. Wouldn't answer.

He glanced sideways at Bellatrix, expecting her to tell Maria what she suspected (_what she was right to suspect_), but her lips were pressed tightly together, though her eyes gleamed as she looked from Rabastan to Maria and back.

"Just talking," Rabastan said at last. "Nothing particular. We were talking, we had a few drinks, and- and I fell asleep." _Not strictly untrue._

Maria put her hand on Rabastan's hair, petting it in the most condescending manner that Rabastan could have imagined. He gritted his teeth.

"Well, you're home now… go up to bed, darling…"

Rabastan stepped away from her and ducked his head, starting towards the stairs. As he passed by Bellatrix, she leaned over and whispered in his ear, "We're going to have a nice long talk about what happened between you and the Dark Lord, Rab."

He froze and looked at her with wide, frightened eyes. She smiled sweetly.

"Oh, don't worry," she breathed. "I'm going to keep your little secret… at least, for now."


	23. Chapter 23

Rabastan would have been quite happy to go into his bedroom and never come out. He didn't want to see Bellatrix and hear her taunting him, and he certainly didn't want to have to face his parents and their prying questions.

So he sat in his bedroom and thought.

There was really no point in denying that he had far, far preferred going to bed with the Dark Lord over going to bed with Andromeda. The Dark Lord had not made him feel weak, uncomfortable or awkward the way that Andromeda had (though he was sure that she had never meant to). The Dark Lord had made him feel better than he could remember feeling at any point in his entire life.

And what was he going to do now?

He couldn't just _tell_ people that he had bedded the Dark Lord. What would they say? What would they think? Nothing complimentary about him, surely – he knew the sorts of insults endured by anyone who people even _believed_ went to bed with their own sex. He wouldn't be able to stand that, and that was even before he considered his parents' reactions.

Maria would be furious at losing an opportunity to have the bloodlines carried on once and for all. Joseph would hide his anger, but Rabastan could already feel his cold, bitter disappointment. Disappointment that his son was weak and all _wrong_, and hardly even a man…

_No, no, no!_

Rabastan paced his bedroom, digging his nails into his palms until they bled. He _was_ a real man, no matter what his parents believed – he had felt it when he was with the Dark Lord. He had felt powerful, capable, _right_, all _right!_

But he wasn't.

He wasn't right. Something had gone horribly wrong when he was being created, something that made him weak and sickly and useless and _perverted_…

He glared into his looking glass, and the same thin, pale face as always stared back out at him. What had the Dark Lord seen in him? Why had he ever put his hands on him? What could _possibly_ attract a man of the strength and clout of the Dark Lord to someone like Rabastan? Even if his desires did tend towards men, surely he would be able to find a far more suitable lover…

Rabastan was still glaring into his mirror and considering it – trying for the life of him to think of what reason _he_ would have for being attracted to a person like him if he were the Dark Lord – when there was a shaky knock at the door.

"What is it?" he demanded, more sharply than he had intended.

The door swung in slightly and a house-elf poked her long nose in. "A message from Master Rodolphus and Mistress Bellatrix, sir – they wish you to come see them at their home."

Rabastan stepped away from his glass and regarded the house-elf suspiciously. "What for? Did they say?"

"No, Master," she said quietly.

Rabastan let out a soft noise of impatience, then slammed the door, almost catching her nose and long fingers in it.

What did Rodolphus and Bellatrix have to say to them that they couldn't be bothered to come tell him themselves? If it had only been Bellatrix who sent the message, Rabastan would assume that she was preparing to threaten him with the knowledge of what he had been doing with the Dark Lord – but Rodolphus wouldn't have _anything_ to do with that, would he?

_Maybe_.

Rabastan could not, however, imagine that whatever it was was in any way a good thing for him.

He didn't bother telling his parents that he was going to see Rodolphus and Bellatrix – he had no doubt that they would waylay him with all sorts of lectures that he had no wish to hear. It would be better, he thought, to just go by himself and let them worry. If they even noticed that he was gone.

Bellatrix and Rodolphus had been given a small manor, not too far from the Lestrange's estate. It wasn't much – not in comparison to the manor that Rabastan and Rodolphus grew up in – but Rabastan knew full well that it was better than what he and Andromeda would be getting.

But when Rabastan showed up on the step, knowing that whatever happened next was going to be bad, very bad for him, the manor just looked intimidating.

He knocked on the door and it swung open when he touched it, creaking quietly. The foyer was empty, but Rabastan heard movement from the parlour, and edged towards it. The door was ajar.

Rabastan peered in, then immediately wished that he hadn't.

Bellatrix and Rodolphus were sprawled on the sofa, Bellatrix with her legs apart and Rodolphus in between them. He had his lips on her bare breast and was sucking her nipple in _just_ the same way that Rabastan had seen him doing to Maria.

_Was that something women liked?_ was the first thought to cross Rabastan's mind, and then, _was that something _Rodolphus_ liked_?

"We're being watched, Rod," Bellatrix purred. Rabastan, who felt as if he had been frozen in place, stepped back quickly as Rodolphus lifted his head and looked at him.

"I- I wasn't- I was just–"

"Oh- it's all right." Rodolphus sat up quickly, cheeks flooding with colour, and Bellatrix straightened as well. The bodice of her dress was undone and she took her time in tightening it. Rabastan averted his eyes.

"You sent for me," he muttered.

"I did," Bellatrix said. Rabastan glanced at her and saw, with relief, that she had done up her dress and was covered properly. "I wanted to talk about last night. _We_ wanted to talk about last night."

"What I did last night isn't anything to do with you," Rabastan snapped. Bellatrix's lip curled.

"Oh, on the contrary, darling," she drawled, standing and stepping towards him. Rodolphus watched the two of them and Rabastan dared to send his brother a pleading glance – _please don't let her threaten me_.

"So, you were with the Dark Lord, were you?"

"Yes," Rabastan muttered.

"And how was he?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"You know exactly what I mean," Bellatrix whispered. She was standing uncomfortably close to Rabastan now, and she reached out and stroked his cheek lightly. He shied away from her, disliking her touch.

"No, I don't!"

"How _was he_," she repeated, emphasizing every word like she was talking to an idiot, "_in bed?_"

"Bella!" cried Rodolphus. He jumped up, grabbing her arm. "Don't ask him things like that – he didn't _go to bed_ with the Dark Lord! Don't accuse him of–"

"He was good," Rabastan interrupted.

Rodolphus fell abruptly silent, but Bellatrix let out a triumphant laugh.

"I knew it!" she crowed. "I _knew_ you fucked him, and I _knew_ you liked men–"

"Shut up!" snapped Rabastan. He wasn't looking at her. He was looking at Rodolphus and watching every flicker of emotion that was running across his brother's face. Fear, disdain, anger…

"Hope it doesn't run in the family," Bellatrix purred, reaching out to lay her hand on Rodolphus's shoulder, but he pushed her away, eyes fixed on Rabastan.

"Rab," he whispered. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Rabastan swallowed and looked down, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "I didn't think you'd…" He trailed off. _Didn't think you'd care. Didn't think you'd accept it. Didn't think you'd love me. Didn't think._

Then Rodolphus's arms were around him, pulling him close against his chest, and Rodolphus felt him shuddering with suppressed tears.

"Oh, Rab," he breathed. "Rab, I- did you think I was going to hate you for- for who you…"

Rabastan nodded. His throat choked with tears and he dug his fingers into his brother's shirt, clinging to him. "It's- it's wrong–"

"I don't care," Rodolphus whispered. "I don't, do you hear me, Rab? _Nothing_ you do is ever going to make me love you any less – do you understand me?"

Rabastan sniffed, wiping his tears on his brother's shoulder, and _oh_, how he wished he could believe Rodolphus. He meant well, but Rabastan knew better than to believe that Rodolphus would accept him if he knew what Rabastan thought about him…

"Oh, that's sweet," Bellatrix sneered. "But we all know it's not true. I mean, Rabastan's spoiled goods now – he'll never get married if this gets out…"

"But I'm already betrothed to Andromeda!"

"If I told my parents that you fancy men, they'd break the engagement in a second," Bellatrix told him. "They'd marry my sister to someone who can get her pregnant. And then you'd _never_ be able to get married, and you _know_ how ashamed your family would be…"

"But–" The _injustice_ of it all made Rabastan sick. "But Andromeda's- she prefers–"

"Women, yes. But she can still get pregnant from men, so she's still good for marriage. But if you can't get it up with a girl–"

"Shut up!" Rodolphus interrupted loudly. Rabastan winced at the harshness of his brother's voice, and fresh tears came to his eyes. Bellatrix fell silent and fixed a wary gaze on Rodolphus.

"You're not going to tell your parents about him," Rodolphus hissed. He let go of Rabastan and took a step towards Bellatrix, drawing himself up to stand threateningly over her. "You're not going to tell _anyone_ about him. Not now and not _ever_, do you understand me?"

Bellatrix pressed her lips together tightly. "How are you going to stop me?" she hissed through gritted teeth.

"If you tell anyone _anything_ about my brother's- _personal_ life," Rodolphus hissed, "I'll tell my parents about you and Andromeda. I'll say I want a divorce, and I'll get it and you'll never be able to remarry. I'll spread the rumours and no one will _ever_ want you."

"You wouldn't dare," Bellatrix breathed, eyes narrowing. "You swore to keep what happened between me and Andromeda quiet!"

"And I will," he said, all false patience, drawing Rabastan close to him again. "So long as you keep _this_ quiet. Come on, Rab," he added quietly, pulling Rabastan towards the door.

"Bastard!" Bellatrix spat after them, and Rabastan saw Rodolphus shoot one last furious, withering glare at her before he dragged Rabastan out of the parlour and closed the door behind them.


	24. Chapter 24

Rabastan was shaking from something like shock. Rodolphus put his arm firmly around his shoulders and half-led, half-dragged him up the stairs, and Rabastan could practically feel his brother's anger radiating off of him.

"Rod?" he spoke up quietly.

Rodolphus shook his head, not even meeting Rabastan's eyes. He didn't look at him until he had pulled him into his bedroom and locked the door behind him.

Rabastan could only assume that his brother shared this bedroom with Bellatrix, because there was a distinct femininity around it (cosmetics on a dressing table and a hint of perfume in the air). It felt rather good for Rabastan to be let in – like Rodolphus was purposefully violating what was supposed to be a sanctuary for a man and his wife. Like he didn't care enough about Bellatrix to keep their bedroom pure.

_Good._

"So," Rodolphus said quietly and Rabastan looked up at him hesitantly.

"Yes?"

"What was it like?"

Rabastan flushed and looked down. "What… being with the Dark Lord?"

"Yes, being with the Dark Lord." Rodolphus sank down onto the bed and indicated for Rabastan to join him. "How did it happen? And… _what_ happened?"

Rabastan's tongue felt heavy and slow in his mouth. He couldn't think how to express what had happened – there were no words for how he had felt when he was in the Dark Lord's arms. There were words for what the Dark Lord had done to him – not words that suited the experience exactly, but at least words that expressed the mechanics of what had happened. But Rabastan couldn't make them come to his mouth.

"He… we…" he stammered, face red.

Rodolphus waited, watching him patiently while he searched for some way to express his thoughts.

"He… invited me to his flat," he managed at last. _Better to start from the beginning._ "We had a drink, and then he… we were talking and he… he put his hand on my leg…" _Oh, so difficult to explain_. How could Rabastan possibly tell Rodolphus what it was like to feel that kind of touch, and to understand that the intention behind it was exactly what Rabastan wanted it to be…

"And then?" Rodolphus asked quietly, and Rabastan blushed. This would have been difficult enough with anyone, but with Rodolphus, Rabastan had to bite his lips to stop himself from telling his brother to let him demonstrate… leaning forward and kissing Rodolphus as the Dark Lord had kissed him…

"And then he kissed me," Rabastan whispered. "He put his hand… here…" He gestured between his legs, a flush rising on his cheeks as the memories came back more strongly. He felt himself twitch beneath his trousers as he thought about the Dark Lord's hand resting there. "And then he… he undressed…"

Rodolphus was watching with an almost hungry expression on his face. "And then?"

"I- I don't know if I want to tell you," Rabastan said quietly. He shifted on the bed. "It's… private."

But no. The problem wasn't that he felt that what had happened between him and the Dark Lord was too private. He had never had qualms about sharing anything with his brother before. They were so _close_ – Rabastan had taken it for granted that every aspect of their lives was something that they could share. Even what happened between Rodolphus and Maria wasn't _completely_ off-limits – Rabastan would only avoid mentioning it because he could see how it hurt his brother and he never wanted to do that. Rabastan was the one person that Rodolphus could confide in, and vice versa…

But he didn't want to tell Rodolphus about how the Dark Lord had touched him and kissed him and _taken_ him. He didn't want to sit there and explain how it had happened, how it had felt.

Because he didn't think that he could stand it. Because he was sure that if he tried to talk about the experience with Rodolphus, something would slip out – something about how Rabastan felt for his brother – something that he wouldn't be able to take back once it was said…

"Was it like being with Andromeda?" Rodolphus asked tentatively, and Rabastan shook his head wildly.

"No. Not at all. Not even a bit."

He could answer _that_ with certainty, at least. Labouring over Andromeda, knowing that it was hurting her, unable to become aroused by her and only managing to keep going by thinking about his brother – that had been an agonizing experience. He felt a little twinge of anger at his brother for even thinking that it could be _anything_ like being taken by the Dark Lord.

"How was it different?"

"I don't know how to explain, Rodolphus!" Rabastan snapped. His voice cracked and he swallowed hard. "It just _was_. I mean- it _felt_ all different… because we… I wasn't… I didn't… you know… do the same thing that I did with Andromeda…" His face burned and he even saw Rodolphus blush a little. "But it's not just that it… felt different physically… you know?"

Rodolphus nodded slowly. "I think I do…"

"I felt so much _stronger_ with him," Rabastan said quietly. "When I was with Andromeda, it was all so… so awkward… I couldn't… I felt like such a _child_ with her, Rodolphus," he muttered, humiliated that he was even saying it. "But with the Dark Lord, he was so much better and- I felt- I didn't feel so… _useless_ with him…"

"I understand," Rodolphus said softly.

"Do you? But- but you and Bellatrix…"

"It's awful with Bellatrix, Rab," Rodolphus said bluntly, and Rabastan reeled from that statement. It went against everything he had believed about his brother and Bellatrix – he had thought that, if anything, sex was the saving grace in a relationship that he was sure wasn't at all good in other ways. Rodolphus and Bellatrix were different in too many ways to make a proper couple in any way _except_ sex, surely…

"Why- why is it awful?" he asked at last. He could feel a little twinge of some emotion in his chest – _satisfaction?_ Satisfaction that his brother's relationship with Bellatrix was so clearly not going well?

"I swear that she _likes_ making me feel weak," Rodolphus muttered. He clenched his fists. "The way she talks and acts… I think she gets off on seeing me upset."

"What does she do to you, Rod?" Rabastan asked, lowering his voice to a quiet, sympathetic murmur. He shifted close to his brother and put his hand on his shoulder. "What's happened?"

Rodolphus sighed. "She- she talks about the Dark Lord all the time."

Rabastan bristled. "What does she say about him?"

"All sorts of things – I don't think she really knows him, but- but she reads the Daily Prophet and every time he comes up, she's absolutely ecstatic… won't shut up about it all day…" Rodolphus ran a hand through his hair.

"She has no right!" Rabastan said sharply. "He- he doesn't even _know_ about her! Her father was the reason that he sent for me, and he didn't say _anything_ about her!"

"I know that she doesn't really have anything to do with him, all right?" Rodolphus snapped. "But she talks as if she's- as if she…"

"She'd be mad to fancy him more than you," Rabastan said quietly.

Rodolphus looked at him and arched one eyebrow slowly. "It's a bit funny of _you_ to say that – you're the one who slept with him… surely, if anyone would know why she'd fancy him, it would be you… I mean, he must have a lot of good qualities, mustn't he?"

"Not as many as you," Rabastan said quietly, firmly. He couldn't stop the words from coming out, and despite the protests of part of his mind, he didn't entirely _want_ to stop them from coming out.

"He must – don't you think he's good? You fancy him, don't you?"

"Well… yes…" Rabastan's heart was racing and he felt a little dizzy, maybe even a little sick. "Yes, I fancy him, but…"

Rabastan trailed off and met his brother's eyes, searching them. Rodolphus looked confused, slightly concerned, and so, _so_ incredibly beautiful…

_Really, what did Rabastan have to lose?_

Rabastan all but threw himself forward, and he saw surprise on Rodolphus's face for a split second before he smashed his lips down against his brother's.

He felt Rodolphus jerk away almost instinctively, but Rabastan clung on, knotting his fingers in Rodolphus's hair and deepening the kiss. He pushed his tongue between Rodolphus's lips and flattened his torso against his brother's, pressing him down onto the bed with more strength than he thought he had. Rodolphus struggled at first, but the longer the kiss went on, the more Rodolphus seemed to hesitate. And when his hands moved to rest on Rabastan's waist and Rabastan felt his lips begin to move, felt him returning the kiss, he could have fainted from sheer happiness.

Rodolphus's body was stronger, harder, more muscular than either the Dark Lord's or Rabastan's own – but Rabastan had already known that. He was familiar with Rodolphus from years of lying curled against him in bed. But that familiarity only increased the pleasure of running his hand down his chest, feeling his body arch up against his, feeling him react in these new and different ways that Rabastan had formerly believed he would never have a chance to experience.

Rodolphus's legs parted slightly and a soft noise of pleasure escaped Rabastan's lips automatically. He moved in between them, pressing the whole length of his body down against Rodolphus's, and a thrill went through him when he felt his brother's arousal press against his thigh.

"Oh… _Rod_," he whispered between kisses, and Rodolphus responded by uttering a low moan and then pressing his hand to the back of Rabastan's leg, pushing it against himself.

Rabastan rocked quickly against his brother, rubbing his thigh against Rodolphus's erection. He wanted to pull away from the kiss so that he could undo his trousers, take him in his hand and feel him properly, but he didn't dare pause for fear that Rodolphus would lose his nerve. And besides, it felt _damned_ good to be rubbing against him…

A ragged groan tore itself from Rodolphus's throat, and Rabastan couldn't have thought of any more arousing sound. His own trousers felt tight and strained in the crotch, and he pressed himself against his brother's stomach while he ground at him with his leg. Rodolphus's hands were knotted in his hair, his kissing becoming deeper, rougher, more desperate, his teeth catching Rabastan's lips and tongue and quiet groans and gasps escaping him with every motion that Rabastan made.

Then Rodolphus shuddered. Rabastan, pressed so close that he could feel every muscle tighten in his brother's body, could feel a spasm running through him, feel him clench his stomach and thighs and thrust up against Rabastan's leg once more, and he felt the vibrations of his moan against his lips.

And then there was wetness.

Wetness on his thigh, warm, slowly spreading through the thin fabric of his trousers.

Rodolphus let go of Rabastan and fell back on the bed, face flushed and arms spread wide. Rabastan sat up slowly, aching between his legs but unwilling to try to relieve it. Little shudders were running through Rodolphus's body, and Rabastan felt a thrill of satisfaction as he watched the small, damp stain spread across his brother's crotch.

"Rab…" Rodolphus whispered at last. His voice was strained and tense and he looked up at his brother with eyes that betrayed fear. "Oh, Rab, what have we done?"


	25. Chapter 25

Rodolphus looked outright frightened, and all the pleasure – and yes, satisfaction at finally getting what he wanted and being with his brother – that Rabastan felt drained away. He slumped down beside Rodolphus and reached for his hands.

"I- it's all right," he said, but Rodolphus sat up, shaking his head wildly.

"No, Rab, it's not, and no matter what you say, it's not going to _turn out_ all right – we're _brothers!_"

"Bellatrix and Andromeda did it," Rabastan pointed out swiftly. Was it petty to bring them up? Yes, it was, but it was the truth.

"Don't you dare!" Rodolphus cried. "Don't make this about them – they were just children – and we should know better! _You_ should know better!"

"Why didn't you stop me, then?" Rabastan asked coldly. He sat up and moved away from Rodolphus. "You could have if you wanted."

"Don't…" Rodolphus ran his hands through his hair. "I don't know what came over me…"

"I know exactly what came over you." Rabastan wanted to scream and shout and shake some sense into his brother, but he couldn't even muster the energy to break out of a monotone. "I know that you have… _thoughts_… about me. You- you held me once while you…"

Rodolphus looked like he was going to be sick. He rose slowly and backed away from his brother, shaking his head.

"No. We can't do this. We _aren't_ going to do this. Just because Bellatrix and Andromeda did it- and just because I sometimes thought about you- that doesn't matter… I'm _married_, Rab, I'm married! I need to be faithful!"

"Why?" Rabastan demanded, fresh anger rising in his throat. "_She_ isn't!"

"Yes she is! She thinks about the Dark Lord sometimes, I know that, but that's not the same thing as being unfaithful!"

Rabastan's mouth twisted in disgust. He hadn't wanted to tell his brother about what had happened between him and Bellatrix – hadn't wanted to tell anyone, ever – but Rodolphus was leaving him with little choice.

"What, Rab?" Rodolphus asked, his voice tinged with suspicion. "Do you know something that I- do you- is she having an affair?"

"Not an affair, exactly," Rabastan muttered, not meeting Rodolphus's eyes. "But she… did things… with someone else."

"Who?" Rodolphus breathed, and when Rabastan dared to look up at him, he saw naked fury on his brother's face. "Tell me who she was with, Rab. I swear to God that I'll kill him."

"Please don't…" Rabastan meant to say _please don't be angry_, but how could he ask that of his brother? Rodolphus would be right to be angry. Rabastan was angry, after all.

"Don't what? Don't hurt him? You think I'll be- you think I'd have _any_ sympathy for a man who- who _took my wife_?" Rodolphus demanded. "Who was it? Tell me now, Rabastan!"

"It was me, Rodolphus."

Rodolphus stumbled a little, like the statement had knocked him off balance. "You- but you…"

Rabastan stared down at his hands. His face was burning, and he felt worse by a thousand times about this than he had about kissing his brother. _And it wasn't even his fault._

"But you don't even fancy her- don't even fancy women–"

"No, I don't."

"So why–"

"I didn't want to do it, Rod!" he interrupted. He didn't want to hear his brother asking why he'd made the choices he had – he'd asked that of himself enough times. _He could have pushed her off,_ he thought, disgusted with himself.

"What happened?" Rodolphus asked bitterly, then added, "No- _how_ did it happen?"

"She said- you told her that I couldn't satisfy Andromeda," Rabastan told him quietly, then glanced up and saw him looking horrified.

"And?" whispered Rodolphus.

"She said she was going to teach me," Rabastan said flatly. He dropped his head again and stared down at his lap, digging his fingers into the fabric of his trousers to control his anger. Rodolphus let out a quiet whimper, and then Rabastan felt the bed shift and his brother's hand laid on his shoulder.

"It's my fault, then," Rodolphus said quietly. "Oh, Rab… I'm- I should never have told her…"

"You thought that you were doing the right thing."

"But I should have known better." Rodolphus put his hand under Rabastan's chin and lifted his head gently so that he was looking him in the eye. "Rab, I… I _understand._ I'm not angry at you – if you didn't want it…"

Rabastan slumped into his brother's arms and clung to him, pressing his face into his shoulder and sniffing.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" Rodolphus whispered.

"I- thought that you would be angry…"

"After you saw what Mother did to me?" Rodolphus let out a small, mirthless laugh. "Hardly. I understand what it's like."

Rabastan didn't know what he could say to that, but he didn't need to say anything. Rodolphus held him close in his arms and rocked him slowly, stroking his hair, and it was _almost_ like nothing in the past few hours had happened. Almost like Rabastan hadn't told Rodolphus what he had done with the Dark Lord. Almost like he hadn't told him that he fancied men. Almost like he hadn't kissed him. It was like they were just brothers and nothing more.

But that wasn't true anymore.

Rabastan had pretended for so long that he didn't feel anything more than familial affection for Rodolphus. When he couldn't do that anymore, he had pretended that it would pass and that it didn't matter, because Rodolphus would never feel the same way. But how was he to keep on with that, after Rodolphus had kissed him and _touched_ him the way he had – even if Rodolphus had felt guilty afterwards? There was no more room for ambiguity; Rabastan had no way left to deny what was between them.

Then Bellatrix flung the door open and Rabastan jumped up, out of his brother's arms, and the moment was broken.

Bellatrix's eyes were red-rimmed and there were a few faint streaks of eye makeup down her cheeks, and she glared at Rabastan. "Go home."

"Leave us alone, Bellatrix," Rodolphus told her sharply, and Rabastan could hear disgust and derision in his brother's voice. "And don't you _dare_ give him orders – don't you dare even _talk_ to him, after what you–"

"Rod!" Rabastan cried, panic tightening his throat. _No, don't tell her I told you, don't!_ He didn't want Bellatrix to know how it had effected him – didn't want her to know that she had hurt him enough that he went crying to his brother…

"After what I _what_, darling?" Bellatrix asked. Her voice was sugar sweet, but with an undercurrent of danger – just like so many things about Bellatrix. Pretty on the outside, dangerous within.

"You know," hissed Rodolphus. "After what you did to him."

Bellatrix closed her mouth abruptly and her eyes widened. "I- I didn't…" she whispered, but Rodolphus didn't stop to listen to her. He put his arm around Rabastan and all but dragged him out of the room, leaving her behind. Rabastan had to stumble to keep up while Rodolphus stormed away from his wife.

"I can't believe her," he muttered when the were out of sight and hearing range from her. "I can't believe that she would do this- no, I can believe it," he added, sounding disgusted. "Sick bitch…"

"I don't want to talk about it," Rabastan said quietly, but there was a part of him that couldn't help but be thoroughly pleased with how angrily Rodolphus had reacted. Anything that indicated strife between them pleased him, after all.

"You should go home…" Rodolphus turned away from him, clenching his hands into fists. "I think… I think that I'd like to be alone for a little while."

"All right," murmured Rabastan, and he was just about to turn to leave when Rodolphus grabbed him.

"Wait," he whispered, then pulled his little brother flat against him and pressed a hot, hard kiss against his mouth. Rabastan barely had time to register it before Rodolphus let go of him and stepped back, shaking his head.

"We aren't going to do this again, Rab," he said, and his voice shook slightly. "We aren't going to- to keep this up. All right?"

"All right," Rabastan told him, and he turned and started for the stairs without giving his brother a backward glance, but he thought, _yes, we are._


	26. Chapter 26

Rabastan didn't go home. He couldn't face his parents. Had Bellatrix already gone to them and told them what she knew about Rabastan? Had they worked it out for themselves? So once he was out of Bellatrix and Rodolphus's manor, he just started wandering.

The skies were grey and there was a hint of rain in the air, and a thick mist that blurred everything far away. The weather suited Rabastan's mood perfectly.

Oh, how dearly he wished that he didn't feel the way he did about his brother, or about the Dark Lord. What wouldn't he have given to be a _normal_ boy, the sort who was good for marriage?

Barely outside of Rodolphus and Bellatrix's grounds, Rabastan sank to the ground and drew his knees up to his chest. The air was chilling him, and he expected that he would make himself sick by staying out, but that didn't matter to him anymore.

He so desperately hoped that what had happened between him and Rodolphus would happen again – hoped it so desperately that it _hurt_. He would have given _anything_. But how could he force his brother into that? If Rodolphus _truly_ didn't want to do it again, Rabastan had no control over that.

But he didn't believe that Rodolphus didn't want to do it again. He believed that Rodolphus wanted it every bit as much as he did. There had been something in Rodolphus's manner – and his actions – that absolutely _convinced_ Rabastan that his brother desired him. He was sure that if Rodolphus hadn't, he would have pushed him away, moved away, told him _no._

And he _hadn't_.

But that wasn't enough. Rodolphus hadn't pushed Maria away either, and he said that he didn't want her.

Maybe he had kissed Rabastan out of the same twisted sense of duty that had compelled him to go to bed with Maria. Maybe he pitied his poor little brother so much that he felt he needed to kiss him to make him feel better.

_Oh_, that hurt. Rabastan didn't want that. He didn't want pity – he'd had enough to last him several lifetimes.

If only he had someone who he could talk to about it…

There was Andromeda, he supposed.

Rabastan sank back so that he was lying flat on the grass, and he stared up at the sky, watching dark clouds blowing in. There was a storm coming. _Good._ Maybe he would freeze to death in the rain, or be struck down by lightning. That would solve everything.

He tried to imagine talking to Andromeda about what he felt for his brother. She would understand more than anyone else, he was sure – after all, she'd had an affair with her sister? And true, they had been children when it happened, which made it _terribly_ different, but she would surely still understand what he was going through more than anyone else he knew would.

But how could he talk to her about it? He hadn't told her anything personal before. He had tried to avoid talking to her whenever he could. He had struggled to make sure that he never had to reveal anything about himself to her. Would she think him desperate if he suddenly decided that he wanted to spill his secrets to her? Would she think him mad?

Did it matter?

Maybe. Maybe he shouldn't tell her _yet_. Maybe he should wait a little while, until he was a bit surer about what Rodolphus felt for him. Until he was a bit surer about what he felt for Rodolphus, even – maybe now that he had done _something_ with his brother, the desires would ebb away. Maybe he could direct his feelings towards the Dark Lord, which would still be all wrong, but better than wanting his brother, at least.

Rabastan felt fat raindrops splash down on his cheeks and he wiped them away, swallowing back tears.

And what about the Dark Lord? His affair with him wasn't very well going to stop his marriage to Andromeda; that was a certainty. And would it make it hurt even more if Rabastan had to marry her when he had the Dark Lord? He had always known that the wedding would be painful, but if he kept on with the Dark Lord…

Maybe Andromeda would understand. Maybe she wouldn't care about what he did with the Dark Lord – after all, _she_ didn't want him. She wanted women. He could let her have her way with whatever women she wanted, and she could let him have his way with men, and surely they would both be happy, then.

Rabastan hoped, at least, that that would be how things would turn out. It was the best that he could hope for.

Lightning cracked across the sky and Rabastan sat up slowly. His spine was stiff from his position on the ground and it hurt him to struggle to his feet.

_Still don't want to go home._

He hesitated, but the decision wasn't difficult. There weren't a lot of places that Rabastan felt he could go safely to.

And the Dark Lord's home was probably his best option.

His street looked even more dismal in the rain, but there was a light glowing in his window and Rabastan's heart skipped a beat. He slipped inside the building, shaking rainwater from his eyes and clothes, then started up the stairs in a hurry. He rapped quickly on the door, mentally begging the Dark Lord to let him in.

"Who is it?"

The Dark Lord's voice was sharp and edged with anger, and Rabastan swallowed before managing to whisper, "It's Rabastan Lestrange, my Lord."

There was a scuffling from inside, and the door flew open.

The Dark Lord had circles beneath his eyes and his face looked even paler and more drawn than before, if that was possible. There were books spread out on a table in the corner of the flat, and Rabastan saw a bottle of wine next to them.

"Have I interrupted something?" he asked quietly, but the Dark Lord shook his head and stepped back.

"Of course not, of course… come in…"

"You were working," Rabastan mumbled, feeling guilt choke him. He didn't want to interrupt the Dark Lord, and he was sure that he must be coming off as such a dependant little boy – he had barely even left, and already he was slinking back to see his lover…

"But something is distressing you." The Dark Lord met Rabastan's eyes. "What is it?"

"I- I don't want to bother you with –"

"But you do," he interrupted. "Of course you do. If you didn't, you wouldn't have come here. Now don't be foolish – it would be a waste of both of our time if you left now. Come in."

Rabastan entered the flat reluctantly and perched on the sofa where he and the Dark Lord had made love the night before (_had it really just been one night ago_? It seemed like a lifetime had passed between then and now). The Dark Lord sat at his table, closing the doors and corking the wine bottle.

"It's about your brother," he said, when Rabastan didn't say anything for a while. Rabastan looked up at him, surprised.

"How did you know that?"

"I have my ways."

Rabastan considered asking about those ways, but he didn't really want to know. He didn't want to know how deeply the Dark Lord could pry into his mind.

"I- I almost went to bed with him," Rabastan said quietly. He looked down at his hands and dragged his nails across his palms, scratching little pale lines into his flesh to distract himself from what he was saying. Saying the words out loud – and to a person who he hardly even knew, though he felt closer to the Dark Lord than he did to anyone save Rodolphus himself – made them feel far more real, and that frightened him.

"Almost."

"We didn't- we kissed," Rabastan muttered. "On his bed. And he… rubbed… rubbed on me… but we didn't… you know…"

"You and he didn't do as you and I did." There was a hint of something that might have been satisfaction in the Dark Lord's voice.

"That's right. We- we just… but I still… feel…"

"Guilty." The Dark Lord seemed to know Rabastan's thoughts better even than Rabastan himself did. "Of course. That's only natural."

"Is it?"

"It is." He reached out and put his hand gently against Rabastan's cheek. Rabastan shivered a little at his cold, feather-light touch. "When everyone you know is telling you that something's wrong, how could you help but believe them?"

"But… it is wrong…"

"Nothing is wrong unless you decide to believe it is – but when all your family is telling you that your desires are wrong, of course you'd believe them. But they don't understand, do they, Rabastan?" He edged closer, his hand still caressing Rabastan's cheek. "They don't understand what you want, what you need…"

"But you do." The words were out before Rabastan could stop himself, and the Dark Lord smiled a little at him.

"I do," he said. "I understand everything about you, Rabastan – so much more than they ever could."

"Yes… you do…"

The Dark Lord joined Rabastan on the sofa, his hand trailing down his neck and over his chest. His touch made Rabastan shiver and ache.

"Put them out of your mind, Rabastan," he said softly. "Think only of me. Can you do that?"

"O- of course, my Lord," he managed, and then the Dark Lord was undoing his shirt with gentle, skilful fingers, and Rabastan laid his own hands tentatively on his chest. He could feel the Dark Lord's heartbeat, quick and steady, beneath his touch.

It wasn't quite as arousing as being with Rodolphus, but it was close – and when the Dark Lord reached between his legs to cup and squeeze and work him in his hand, Rabastan was able to close his eyes and forget about his brother altogether.

It was so much easier to forget that there was anyone else in the world that Rabastan was supposed to care about (_did care about_) when the Dark Lord touched him like this.


	27. Chapter 27

Rabastan would have gladly stayed with the Dark Lord forever. He would have loved to stay in his flat – small and run-down though it was – and sleep and drink and read and make love to him all day.

But he didn't like to trouble the Dark Lord with his constant presence. He had already been unnervingly patient with him, and besides, when Rabastan did come home, he was faced by constant questions about his whereabouts and there were only so many times that he could lie. He feared to answer them truthfully. Telling Rodolphus that he had gone to bed with the Dark Lord has been difficult enough, and Rabastan couldn't have begun to imagine the mortification of telling his parents.

Especially when the matter foremost on their minds seemed to be his impending marriage to Andromeda.

And every time they brought it up, the date that they suggested the wedding should be held on seemed to move closer, until finally, Maria said one night over dinner, "I think you and Andromeda ought to be married this August, Rabastan."

He had been picking listlessly at his food and the fork slipped from his hand when she said it, falling to the floor with a clatter. Maria winced at the noise and put her hand to her forehead, then took a sip of her wine. Joseph watched Rabastan without a trace of emotion.

"You said I needn't marry her so soon!" Rabastan cried. "This _August–_"

"The Blacks grow impatient," Joseph said. "They want their youngest married to Lucius Malfoy as soon as she finishes Hogwarts–"

"That's years from now!"

"But the sooner you can be married to Andromeda, the better," Maria interrupted. "Rodolphus and Bellatrix have not yet conceived–"

"They've only just been married!"

"Oh, don't be naïve!" Maria snapped. She downed the rest of her wine and leaned back in her chair with one hand on her forehead and the other on her stomach. "We all know that they were together before the wedding. If Bellatrix is infertile…"

"That's enough, Maria," Joseph said quietly. He looked at Rabastan and tilted his head towards the door. "I'll discuss it with him."

"Do…" Maria said softly. Joseph rose and Rabastan stood too, trembling all over. He felt as though he had just taken a blow to the stomach – _August!_ Andromeda still had a year of school; how could she be married before she finished? And Rabastan, how could he marry her so soon? How could he tell the Dark Lord? And why would Maria be so concerned – she knew that she had another heir coming – he saw the way she touched her belly, surely seeking roundness in it, waiting for the moment when she would be able to feel her son's child growing in her…

Joseph led Rabastan into his study and shut the door without a word, then he turned on Rabastan, his face stony and cold.

"She's pregnant."

For a moment, Rabastan thought that Joseph was referring to Maria, and he could have sworn that he felt his heart stop. But then he continued.

"Andromeda Black is pregnant. You need to be married before she begins to show. Even August is too far away."

And even then, Rabastan wasn't sure that he understood.

"W- what?" he stammered, lost for words. "She- how is she- how could she be…"

"We've spoken about her before, Rabastan!" Joseph snapped. He turned away and Rabastan saw his father's hands clenching into fists. "You and I both know what she is – how she behaves…"

"But…" _She can't be pregnant_, Rabastan wanted to insist. Andromeda simply _couldn't_ be. She couldn't be, for she didn't go to bed with men. She must not have – he couldn't imagine her being with a man after the ordeal that he had gone through with her the one time they had gone to bed together.

"But?" Rabastan could tell that he was gritting his teeth. "We thought that the promise of you would be enough to keep her chaste, but clearly, we were wrong. Now you need to be married to her before news of it can become public. That sort of scandal would ruin us all."

"She _can't_ be pregnant!" Rabastan managed at last. "She just _can't_ be!"

"Why not?" Joseph whirled to face him, and Rabastan could see the blood draining from his face. "What do you know of her, Rabastan? Why can't she be pregnant? Why do you think she can't be?"

And Rabastan couldn't tell him. He couldn't tell him the things that Andromeda had told him. He didn't want to humiliate her or ruin her by telling his father that her preferences tended towards women, for he knew he wouldn't be able to bear it if Andromeda were to tell her father about him…

"I'm sorry," he muttered, swallowing. "I just… I believed… I thought that she would be faithful to me." _Lies, all lies, blatant lies – could Joseph see how untrue what he said was?_

The muscles around Joseph's mouth tightened and he closed his eyes briefly, then said, "Yes. Well. You know better now. You know never to trust a whore like her."

Rabastan didn't like him speaking of Andromeda that way, but there was nothing that he could say about it. Letting his father call her a whore was better than objecting and being questioned about why he objected.

"You may go," Joseph said, after a long, tense silence. "But Rabastan…"

"Yes, Father?"

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then fixed Rabastan's eyes with his.

"Do not – do _not_ tell anyone about this," he said, and his voice was low, serious, and perhaps even a touch desperate. "No one can know that she's- that this has happened. It would ruin her family – and ours."

Rabastan nodded, and started to turn for the door, but with his arm halfway outstretched, he stopped and turned back.

"Father?"

"Yes, Rabastan?"

"I… I see the ways in which it would ruin her family," he said slowly, carefully, aware that this came dangerously close to questioning his father, which was something that he had learned not to do through years of teaching about propriety. "But I- I fail to see how it would ruin ours. Surely… surely if she and I are not yet married, it- it can have no effect on me."

Joseph swallowed, and Rabastan saw anger flash across his father's face. Unusual, for a man as stoic as Joseph.

"This goes beyond your marriage to her, Rabastan," he said quietly, and there was just the slightest tremor to his voice. "There are other matters at play here – other reasons that it would hurt our family – no, not reasons that are any of your concern!" he added, his voice rising slightly. "You know enough now. Keep silent about her, and marry her, and everything will work out for the best! Now go!"

Rabastan fled. His heart pounded as he raced up the stairs as fast as his shaking legs would carry him, away from his father and his study and the anger he could sense in the air when he was there. He passed his own bedroom and made for Rodolphus's instead, throwing himself down upon his brother's bed where the faintest scent of Rodolphus still remained.

He buried his face in his pillow and breathed it in deeply, lying still until his fast, fluttering heartbeats slowed to something like their normal – if still unsteady – pace.

And then his mind began to race instead.

Rabastan did not doubt his father when he said that there were other matters at play. If this were simply a case of Andromeda being pregnant and the marriage being hurried so that there wouldn't be a pregnancy scandal, Rabastan would understand. He would not like it, but he would understand.

But that wasn't it.

He was sure, sure beyond a shadow of doubt, that Andromeda would not have gone to bed with a man. He had seen the displeasure on her face when he was between her legs, and he was _sure_ that even if she had gone to bed with a far better, more beautiful man – even if she had gone to bed with Rodolphus instead of him – even if she had been with a man who she was not being forced to marry – that displeasure would not have disappeared entirely.

Rabastan could not believe that she had wanted a man. If she _was_ a whore, she was a whore only for women.

And women could not get her with child.

And the more Rabastan thought about it, the more he hated the ideas that came to his mind about how she could be pregnant.


	28. Chapter 28

Rabastan avoided Andromeda as best he could. He was afraid of having to talk to her, having to look into her eyes with the knowledge that some man had probably had her against her will, having to pretend to be excited about their upcoming wedding when the very thought made him sick to his stomach.

Fortunately, everyone else seemed equally disinterested.

Memories of how people had fawned over Rodolphus and Bellatrix were still fresh in Rabastan's mind, and even though he didn't want to be married, it stung that Maria wasn't fussing over him, that he wasn't receiving bunches of flowers and piles of wedding gifts, that no one was congratulating him on what a fine marriage he was making. Preparations for the wedding were made quietly and without fuss: invitations were sent out, a few sparse bunches of roses were ordered to decorate the chapel and for the women to hold, and Rabastan wasn't even fitted for new dress robes, just told to wear his usual ones. But there was palpable tension in the air, and Rabastan found himself feeling even more ill than usual. He spent the entire day before his wedding in bed, dizzy and feverish, and desperately wishing that Rodolphus was there to put his arms around him and press his strong body against his and hold him close and tell him that everything would be all right…

But Rodolphus wasn't there for him. Rodolphus didn't even come to the manor on Rabastan's wedding day to help him dress or tell him _good luck_ or impart advice on how to deal with married life. He was waiting in the chapel when Rabastan arrived, and when he smiled at him, the smile didn't reach his eyes.

"You and Andromeda are going to be very happy together," he told him flatly, as if he'd rehearsed it.

Rabastan shook his head and moved close to Rodolphus, glancing around for eavesdroppers before muttering, "No, we aren't going to be. You know that. We all know that."

"There's more to marriage than sex, Rabastan." Rodolphus spoke in a whisper and his cheeks coloured slightly.

"What?"

Rodolphus didn't answer that, and Rabastan turned away, scanning the sanctuary. During Rodolphus's wedding, the tiny sanctuary had been packed, and now, many of the pews were empty. Druella Black was sitting at the front, twisting a handkerchief between her fingers. Walburga and Orion were beside her, both of them stiff and tense. Behind them were their two boys, Regulus immersed in a book and Sirius staring around with a look of distaste. There were spaces in the pews that Rabastan assumed were reserved for his own parents, and the Malfoys were sitting at the back, muttering among themselves. Abraxas looked angry and Elisabeth looked like she was about to cry.

Rabastan felt a hand on his shoulder and then Bellatrix's voice was in his ear.

"Congratulations to the groom," she murmured, her voice low and sweetly dangerous. "I just thought I ought to tell you now… if you do _anything_ to my sister…"

But she was cut off by organ music and she straightened up and stepped back, and Rodolphus gave Rabastan a light push.

"You need to be standing at the front when Andromeda comes out," he reminded him quietly. "Come on. Don't be scared."

Rabastan couldn't even bear to keep his head up while he took his place at the front of the chapel. Rodolphus stood beside him and he placed one hand discretely on his arm, which sent a shiver through Rabastan's body that he didn't think Andromeda would ever be able to replicate.

She did look beautiful coming down the aisle, dressed in green and gold and her face obscured by her veil. Rabastan tried to smile at her when she reached him, but he couldn't tell whether she was smiling back, or even looking at him.

His mind wandered afresh while the priest set about reciting the vows. His eyes travelled across the married couples in the pews – were any of them happy? Druella was still wringing her handkerchief – Rabastan could see it starting to fray – and she was leaning away from Cygnus, who was staring up at Andromeda with rapt attention. Walburga and Orion sat as still and impassive as statues. Elisabeth had begun to cry and tears were rolling silently down her face, and Abraxas was making no move to comfort her. And Maria and Joseph sat at the front, Maria with her hand upon her stomach and a small smile on her lips, and Joseph staring up at Rabastan and Andromeda with intensity that matched Cygnus's.

None of them looked happy or loving. And yet somehow, they all expected Rabastan and Andromeda to be happy and love each other.

Rabastan's voice sounded hollow and miserable when he said _I do_, and Andromeda's even more so. The priest was the only person in the church with any emotion in his voice, for he _almost_ sounded happy when he told Rabastan, "You may kiss the bride."

He reached out and lifted her veil, and when he did, he saw that her cheeks were wet and her eyes swollen and red. Rabastan's heart ached for her, and for himself, but he dared not say or do anything to call attention to it. He leaned in and closed his eyes, parting his lips slightly for her and hoping that the kiss would be over quickly.

Andromeda's lips brushed against his just as Rabastan heard the distinctive sounds of the door opening and closing again, and when he opened his eyes, he saw a new guest standing at the back of the chapel.

He was hooded and his face hidden in shadow, but Rabastan recognized the Dark Lord.

The other guests were already hurrying up to the newly wedded couple, eager to give their congratulations – and Rabastan was eager too, for that meant that the ceremony was over. He forced himself to smile and accept their congratulations, but his eyes kept going back to the Dark Lord, standing at the back of the chapel and watching them.

Part of Rabastan was wondering how he had found them – where he had gotten the information about the date and time and location of the wedding – but a far bigger part of him was dizzy with excitement. He had missed him so, even though it had been his decision to stay away.

"Pardon me," Rabastan said, pushing away from Druella, who he could tell was just waiting for a chance to speak to him and condescend and tell him about what a sweet little boy he had looked like up there. He didn't have the patience for any more of that – she had spent long enough treating him like a child, and he would far rather be speaking to the Dark Lord.

He made his way through the little knot of guests and to the back of the chapel, then forced a smile onto his lips.

"My Lord… I didn't realize you would be here."

"I daresay you didn't," he said simply.

"How did you–"

"Outside," he interrupted, then turned and swept from the chapel. Rabastan glanced behind him and saw Andromeda with her head bowed, surrounded by the guests. He felt a twinge of guilt for leaving her behind on their wedding day, but thoughts of the Dark Lord overpowered that guilt, and Rabastan hurried out after him.

The sun was setting low on the horizon and dark clouds were rolling up from the east. Rabastan could feel a storm brewing and he shuddered, but he hadn't much time to think about the weather before the Dark Lord caught him by his arm and pushed him roughly against the chapel wall. His head knocked against the stones and he whimpered in pain.

"You didn't tell me that your wedding was today, Rabastan," the Dark Lord said, and his voice was as calm as ever, but it now had a sharp, cold edge. "I would have thought that you would mention that to me."

"I'm sorry, my Lord." Rabastan's voice shook and he turned his head, looking away. "I- I didn't know how to tell you…"

"I suppose you didn't think it was very important to tell me? I'm your _lover_, Rabastan…" He purred the word _lover_, and his lips brushed against Rabastan's throat, sending a shiver through him. "You're supposed to tell me _everything_…"

"I'm sorry, my Lord." _Oh_, but it was difficult to be sorry when the Dark Lord's body was pressing him against the wall and his mouth so _very_ close to his…

"How can I trust you after this?" His hand slid down Rabastan's chest, then rested lightly on his waist. "You want me to trust you, don't you? How can I, after you keep such a secret from me?"

"I- I'll do whatever you want, my Lord…" Rabastan's voice caught with lust. "Oh… Master," he added, sighing when the Dark Lord pressed his lips against his throat, just below his ear.

"I'll remember that," he murmured, then pulled away, his eyes glinting. "Don't think I won't."

"A- all right…" Rabastan swallowed, forcing down the desire that had made itself audible in his voice. He straightened his robes and breathed deeply. "I'm sorry, my Lord. I won't keep things from you in future."

He had hoped that an apology and a promise to do anything would be enough to appease the Dark Lord, but instead of telling him he was forgiven, or even smiling or inclining his head or _maybe giving him one more heated, lustful kiss_, the Dark Lord turned away. Rabastan didn't have time to call out and ask where he was going before he Disapparated, and barely had he gone when Andromeda stepped out. Her face was pale and a bit sweaty and she was shaking visibly.

"I'd- like to go, Rab," she whispered. "I'd really like to leave… now."

Rabastan cast a regretful look at the place where the Dark Lord had disappeared, then he turned to Andromeda and did his best to hitch a smile onto his face.

"Whatever you want," he said, and he sounded tired and weak, even to himself.

Andromeda took his hand, and her palms were slick and clammy. Rabastan almost asked her if she was all right. But _no_, of course she wasn't.


	29. Chapter 29

The Blacks had arranged for Rabastan and Andromeda to spend their honeymoon in the Black's villa in Italy. This would have pleased Rabastan – he had been to Italy a handful of times before and had never felt better than when he was there – were it not for the distinct sense he got that their families were trying to get rid of them.

Andromeda looked positively nauseous when they arrived at the villa. Rabastan considered embracing her, but he doubted very much that that would help her. Besides, she wouldn't want _her_ to embrace _him_ – he couldn't stand physical affection, save from Rodolphus and perhaps the Dark Lord – not that the Dark Lord was prone to such displays…

"Well," Andromeda said coldly, and Rabastan jumped at the sharp tone in her voice. She turned away from him as she entered the villa, then turned around in the foyer and met his eyes. "Let's get this over with."

"Get… what over with?"

Andromeda didn't answer. She turned again and fled up the stairs, and Rabastan followed her as quickly as he could manage. The stairs left him gasping and wheezing for air, and when he reached the top, he heard Andromeda sobbing.

She was in the master bedroom, and she tore off her veil and stamped on it, then whirled to face Rabastan.

"That veil's supposed to symbolize purity," she said scornfully. "Did you know that? I'm supposed to be a virgin and you're supposed to be the very first man to take me, and it was supposed to be on our wedding night – you must feel cheated, Rabastan, that your wife is already pregnant."

Rabastan wanted to respond, and to tell her that he didn't feel cheated in the lest and he was only sorry for her, but his throat had closed up and he couldn't speak. She kicked off her shoes and scrambled onto the bed, flinging her arms out and spreading her legs. He averted his eyes.

"Come on, then!" she said tearfully. "Aren't you going to have me?"

"Andromeda–"

"Or am I not good enough for you?"

"Do you want me to?" he managed, and Andromeda let out a short, sharp laugh.

"Of course I don't. But when has what I want ever mattered? If you want me, it's my responsibility to give myself to you, and you're a man, so of course you–"

"I don't!" Rabastan interrupted. Andromeda fell abruptly silent, and Rabastan swallowed down his nerves. He should have told her a long time ago. He felt panic tighten in his throat, but he swallowed down his fear. If anyone would understand, she would. If anyone would be _happy_ to know that he was the way he was, she would.

"I'm… not interested in you… that way," he said shakily. Every word was a strain to get out. "I'm not interested in women… at all.. that way."

The words hung in the air between them, and Rabastan watched, wracked with anxiety. Anger drained slowly from Andromeda's face, replaced with shock.

"You… what?" she asked quietly.

Rabastan sank onto the bed. He didn't think his legs would support him. He clung to the frame, his palms slick and fingers cold. "I… I don't… I'm not interested in women. I prefer- I'm more- I… I fancy men," he managed at last, and a wave of shame washed over him when he said it. His cheeks burned. "I'm sorry…"

"Sorry?" Andromeda's voice cracked. "Oh, Rabastan, why- why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know…"

She sat up, edging towards him tentatively. "Is there… someone specific? A man? Someone you… fancy?"

For just a moment, Rabastan considered telling her the whole truth. He considered telling her about Rodolphus, about how he had felt for him for so long, about how Rodolphus was the only person in the world who he thought really cared about him. About how he had lain in bed with Rodolphus and touched himself. How he had kissed him and rubbed against him until he came…

But he couldn't. He couldn't tell _anyone_ that – not yet, and maybe not ever. Even though Andromeda would surely understand better than anyone else, Rabastan couldn't have borne the shame of having to say out loud what had happened between him and his brother.

"Yes," he said at last, twisting his hands together in his lap and looking at them instead of at her. "He was at the wedding. In the back."

"Who?" Andromeda sounded almost tender. She reached out and put her hand on Rabastan's. "Who is he?"

"The Dark Lord," he told her quietly, and felt the tiniest swell of pride when he glanced up and saw an impressed look on her face.

"Bellatrix is _always_ talking about him," she said, and her lips twitched into a smile. "I think she'd give anything to go to bed with him – _have_ you gone to bed with him?" she added, and Rabastan nodded, blushing. "Well, no wonder she can't stand you…"

He managed a small laugh. "I suppose…"

"I'm happy for you," she told him. She raised her hand and put it gently on his cheek, and Rabastan didn't pull away. "I'm sorry that we had to be married."

"You didn't want it," he said with a small shrug of one shoulder. "It isn't your fault – and besides," he added, a bit darkly, "it's not as if I'd have been able to have a… a real relationship with him. It's not as if we could have been married." And he thought, _and it's even less likely that I could have the relationship I want with Rodolphus._

She dropped her hand and bit her lip, nodding slowly. "That's… that's true." She was silent for a long time, and then tentatively said, "Rab- Rabastan… we can try to be happy together, can't we?"

"I don't know…" What was he meant to say to that? What sort of response could she possibly expect from him – was he to say that they _couldn't_ try? No, that would never do. Was he meant to say that they could? But he didn't know yet. He _couldn't_ know yet. He couldn't imagine ever being happy married to a woman, even Andromeda.

"I… I think… listen, Rabastan," she said, "I- I won't begrudge you if you… if you carry on an affair with him. Or anyone. I understand." She let out another small, sharp laugh. "God knows, I wouldn't want to be married to me…"

"It's not _you_," he told her. "It's not that I don't want to be married to _you_. If I fancied women, I would- I would be happy with you." That might not have been entirely true, but he wasn't sure – he couldn't imagine a reality where he fancied women. "You're a… you're… a good person," he added, fearing that it sounded stupid. "I just… can't… feel anything… _physical_ for you…" He gestured at his body and her lips twitched up again.

"That's sweet of you to say," she told him, then stood up and turned away, staring out the window. When she spoke again, her voice cracked. "But it's not true. I'm- you can't _possibly_ want a wife who's already pregnant. You _couldn't_."

"I don't care about that!"

"I do!"

Rabastan didn't dare speak. Andromeda's shoulders heaved and she bent forward, clinging to the window frame. He heard her stifling sobs and saw her wiping her eyes, but still, she didn't turn back to look at him.

At last, he asked, "Is it… mine, do you think? From the time that you and I…"

But Andromeda was already shaking her head.

"Wouldn't that be nice?" she asked bitterly. "It would work out so well if it were yours. I might not even be crying if it were yours." Her hand moved to rest on her stomach. "I don't think I'd mind carrying your child… not very much," she added, very quietly.

Rabastan didn't know what answer to give to that, so he allowed a moment of quiet before he asked in a whisper, "Whose do you think it is, then? If you prefer women, then how did you…"

His voice trailed off when Andromeda turned around to look at him again. Her face was contorted with anger and suppressed emotion. She dashed tears from her eyes then took a deep breath and let it out slowly. When she spoke, her voice was low, dull and cold.

"You should ask your father to tell you about how I got pregnant. Your father, and mine."


	30. Chapter 30

Rabastan didn't try to talk to Andromeda any more after that. He slept downstairs, preferring to curl in an armchair in the parlour rather than lie in bed with his bride. He could only imagine that she was crying into her pillow or lying awake in silent rage – that was certainly what he would have been doing in her situation.

_Poor Andromeda._

Guilt and sympathy swirled in his stomach while he sat awake, watching the moonlight glitter off the ocean through one of the large windows. He had never wanted to marry Andromeda, but he had never hated her, would never have wished this on her.

He had been so shaken when Bellatrix put her hands on him – how many thousands of times worse must what Cygnus and Joseph done to Andromeda have been?

_And Joseph… his own father…_

Rabastan covered his eyes, sickened by the thought. Was _that_ why Joseph had been so concerned about the matter of Andromeda's pregnancy becoming public? Was he afraid that she would incriminate him?

His father's words echoed in Rabastan's mind, and they sounded so sinister now. He had tried to call her a whore, tried to make it seem as if it were her fault…

And if Rabastan hadn't known that Andromeda preferred women, he would have _believed_ him.

He sickened himself.

No. No, he had done nothing wrong. How could he be sickened with himself when Joseph and Cygnus had done such horrible things to Andromeda? All his hatred should be for them.

When he did sleep – fitfully – his mind haunted him with images of how it might have happened. Had they been drunk or sober? Had they hit and bruised her? Or had they been gentle and delicate and whispered to her that it was in her best interests – trying to justify it the way Bellatrix had?

Had Andromeda cried?

Rabastan woke when there was just a hint of light on the eastern horizon, and he felt no more rested than he had when he had fallen asleep. His back and neck ached from sleeping in an unnatural position, and he barely managed to unfold his legs and stagger upright.

There was a light in the kitchen.

Rabastan made his way towards it, holding his breath and hesitating, listening for movement. He heard glass clinking inside, and when he peered in, he saw Andromeda sitting at the table, still in her wedding dress, holding a bottle of wine in her arms as tenderly as she might hold a child.

"Andromeda?"

She looked up at him and her eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot.

"I didn't want to wake you," she murmured.

Rabastan took a tentative step towards her, and when she did not protest, he sank down into the chair next to her and took the bottle gently from her hands.

"I couldn't sleep," she continued quietly. "Kept thinking about them…"

Rabastan didn't know what to say to her. She twisted the skirt of her dress between her fingers, keeping her head down so her hair shielded her face, glistening soft golden brown in the candlelight. He wanted to touch it, to stroke it back, to express affection for her in _some_ way, but he doubted he would manage anything more than upsetting her.

"I shouldn't be so upset," she muttered. "Father's done worse to Bellatrix and Narcissa."

"_What_?" Rabastan put his hand on his forehead and had to take a moment to struggle for breath. "Your- your father- he–"

"And I thought that was common knowledge," Andromeda said quietly. "Bellatrix acts like it doesn't matter to her, but it does – she was so happy to be married to your brother, and I know it was because she wanted to get away from him. Stupid bitch never thought about what that would mean for Cissy and me," she added, and her voice rose a note. "Or maybe she did and she just didn't care. Maybe she thought it was time that I took my turn."

"Andromeda, don't say–"

"Because he always liked me the best," she cut across him. "He never hurt me before. Just her and Cissy. I think he drove Cissy a bit mad." She let out a small, harsh laugh. "Because she was always acting like she loved being Father's little pet, like she had no idea what he was doing to her – I don't know how she did it. But he never hurt me before…" Andromeda stopped, and ran her hand through her hair slowly. "And then he and your father came into my room one night…"

Rabastan didn't know what to say. His throat was so tight that it hurt, and he felt as though he was going to be ill at any moment. Andromeda looked up at him, then put her hand against his cheek.

"You look like him, you know," Andromeda said, and Rabastan couldn't tell whether she sounded disgusted, or just sad. She traced his cheek with a gentle, shaking hand. "Like your father. You've got his mouth." She touched his lower lip gently, then dropped her hand. "And his eyes. You're very like him."

"I'm not like my father. I'll _never_ be like my father," he told her, and he could feel his chest tightening with anger as he said it. _How could she even say that?_ "_Never_."

Andromeda's eyes were glazed over from the alcohol, and no emotion was expressed in them when she looked at Rabastan. He wondered if she could even see him.

"I know you'd try not to be," she said quietly, dully. "But you can't grow up in a place like this, with people like them, and not turn out like them. It just can't happen. I know what Bellatrix did to you – don't you think that means something? If even a _girl_ starts acting like her father, how can I expect you not to act like yours?"

"I don't know!" Rabastan cried, his cheeks colouring a bit. _How did she know? _He didn't want Andromeda knowing about him and Bellatrix. She shouldn't care; what happened to her was worse. "Maybe there's something wrong in Bellatrix's head–"

"As if anything that's wrong in her head _isn't_ because of what Father did to her – if she's mad, it's because of him!"

"It could be something else – something in her blood–"

"Oh!" Andromeda snorted. "Oh, so now you think there's something wrong with _all_ Blacks? Something in our blood? That's rich, coming from you, _Lestrange_ – I've heard rumours about what your family does, how you keep the blood pure – how your mother–"

"_Stop!_" Rabastan interrupted, his voice rising to a hysterical cry. If Andromeda said anything about Maria and Rodolphus, he didn't think he would ever be able to forgive her, no matter what had happened to her. If she said a word against Rodolphus…

Andromeda let out a strangled half-sob. "I'm sorry."

They were both silent for a moment, then she stood up. Rabastan thought about apologizing for speaking sharply. He thought about taking her in his arms and telling her that she was wrong, it _could_ happen – he would never be like his father any more than she would be like either of her parents – they would both be their own people, and far better than their parents were – but when he reached out for her, she stepped away, shaking her head. She backed away from him slowly.

"Family ruins us, Rabastan," she told him. "Can't you see that?"

"No!" Rabastan responded automatically. "It's just _our_ parents – not our whole families – not family in _general–_"

She let out a sharp bark of laughter.

"You're naïve if you think that, Rab," she told him, and her dull eyes were glittering with tears now. "Naïve and _wrong_. We'd be better off without our families. I'd certainly be better off without _mine_. Sometimes I think I should just–" Her voice broke and she raised her hand to cover her mouth. Rabastan was silent, waiting for her to finish.

"Never mind," she whispered. "I'm going to go back to bed. You… you can join me if you want to… but don't feel like you have to."

She turned and fled the kitchen, and Rabastan sat in her wake, feeling a knot settling in his chest.

_Sometimes I think I should just… what?_


	31. Chapter 31

Rabastan spent his time in the gardens the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that as well. He preferred resting in the solitude and the heat and sunlight rather than forcing his company on Andromeda in the increasingly oppressive-feeling villa. The gardens were beautiful, at least, and Rabastan was happy enough to lie beneath the orange trees and listen to the rushing water of the fountains while the sunlight filtered through the leaves and warmed him. Sometimes he slept, but more often, he lay awake and let his mind wander, though he tried to guide it only to pleasant places.

More than once, Rabastan found himself imagining that Rodolphus was lying beneath the trees with him, perhaps with his limbs tangled with his, his chest pressed against his back and his lips against his throat. Rabastan would have been hard-pressed to imagine any more lovely and intimate place. He would have loved to share it with his brother. The first few times he caught himself having such thoughts, he felt guilty and tried to divert his mind from them – but why did he bother? Trying to be moral where his brother was concerned had proved itself to be a losing battle for him. He might as well just let himself imagine – it wasn't as though he was really _doing_ the things he was thinking about…

So he pictured himself pinned beneath his brother, his beautiful, strong brother. He imagined the way the Italian sunlight would dapple Rodolphus's pale skin, and the way that he, Rabastan, could make him blush. He imagined Rodolphus kissing him underneath the trees, then perhaps sharing an orange with him so he could taste the flavour on his lips when they kissed. And when the fantasies became so intense that Rabastan's body began to react to them – when he found himself hard underneath his trousers – he touched himself until he climaxed into his hand, then imagined Rodolphus twining his arms around him and letting him fall asleep with his head on his chest in the hot afternoon sunshine.

It was twelve days into their honeymoon – nearly at the end, for they were only meant to stay for a fortnight – when Andromeda finally came out to the gardens. Rabastan was sitting at the edge of the fountain, washing his hands after a particularly passionate session of imagining, and he looked warily up at her.

"What's the matter, Andromeda?" he asked cautiously, for she had seemed to purposefully avoid him for the past week. She didn't answer, but she sank down next to him and heaved a sigh.

"Didn't want to be in there anymore," she muttered at last. "You don't mind if I sit out here with you, do I?"

"N- no, of course not." He shuffled a bit, flushing and glancing down at himself, wondering if what he'd been doing was obvious. When he looked up, there was a small smile on Andromeda's face.

"I'm not interrupting anything?"

"No." He blushed and she laughed quietly.

"Been thinking about the Dark Lord?" she asked, and he wished that he could shrivel up and die on the spot from sheer mortification, but she was smiling as if the whole thing was a joke. Not a joke she seemed to find terribly amusing, but a joke.

"Yes," he lied – she seemed more likely to believe that than she would believe him if he said no, and he had been thinking about doing the same things with his brother that she surely thought he had been thinking about doing with the Dark Lord.

"Do you miss him?"

"Terribly," he told her, thinking again of his brother.

She leaned against the fountain and wrapped her arms around her knees. A light breeze lifted her hair, tendrils of it brushing across her forehead.

"I'm sorry we had to be married," she said quietly. "I really am. This should never have happened. You should be with him."

"I couldn't be, even if we weren't married," he told her flatly, turning away so that he wouldn't have to look her in the eye.

"I just–"

"Leave it, Andromeda!" he said sharply. He couldn't stand it – her _regret_, as if it was _her_ fault that they had been put in this awful position, and he knew it wasn't. She just seemed so terribly guilty…

She turned away, and he could see her eyes filling with tears. "Well, if you don't want to talk about it- I only thought that you would understand that _I_ of all people would know what you're going through…"

_More than you know_.

"You're keeping secrets from me, Rabastan. I don't like it," she said quietly. "I don't think it's too much to ask that we should be honest with each other." She shifted closer to him and he looked up at her, struggling to hold any display of emotion at bay.

"What do you think you can say that will shock me?" she asked in a whisper. "I've seen everything, I promise you."

It would feel so good to tell her about Rodolphus.

Rabastan could only imagine the sense of relief that he might feel if he told Andromeda everything – his feelings towards his brother, the way they had mounted over time from merely being uncomfortably intimate to entirely inappropriate, how much he feared that other people would find out, how he had kissed Rodolphus and how he worried that his brother would never let him do it again. Such a weight it would be to have lifted…

But he _couldn't_.

He _couldn't, couldn't, couldn't_ tell her. He couldn't tell _anyone_ the whole truth. What if she told someone else, thinking that they would keep it secret, and they told one other person and it somehow got out? What would Rabastan do then? His family would be ashamed. Andromeda would have grounds for divorce. He would be disgraced. And then there was Rodolphus to consider – if anyone found out how he had kissed Rabastan, it would ruin him too…

"Fine," Andromeda said quietly when he didn't answer. "All right. You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't care if you're sorry or not," she said, turning her back on him. She put her head in her hands, and Rabastan sat at her side, wondering what he could do or say to her. _Anything_ would be better than the tense, bitter silence between them.

"Do you have… someone?" he asked at last, and she looked up at him, her eyes glittering with a fine sheen of tears.

"What do you mean?"

"A… a girl who you…" Rabastan's cheeks coloured and he ducked his head. "Someone who you… fancy."

"Oh." Andromeda heaved a sigh and rested her head back. "No… not really… I mean, there is someone, but she–" She broke off and her mouth twisted as if she had taken a bite of something sour.

"She?"

"Well. We couldn't be together, even if she wanted to… anymore," she muttered, and Rabastan's heart began to beat quickly. He remembered what Rodolphus had told him about Andromeda and Bellatrix, and while there was a part of him that felt guilty for prying into Andromeda's feelings for her sister when he himself would have been so humiliated to have her ask similar questions about how he felt for his brother, his curiosity was nearly unbearable.

"Is it Bellatrix?" he asked quietly, and Andromeda sat straight up, her eyes widening. She looked at Rabastan warily, and he saw a flush rising on her cheeks.

"Who told you that?" she demanded. "Why would you say that?"

"Rodolphus," he said, then immediately regretted incriminating his brother when Andromeda's eyes narrowed into slits and her fists clenched. "Bellatrix told him that you and she had… had…" Words escaped him.

"And I'm sure you two have had a lovely time spreading that around, have you?" she snapped tearfully. Rabastan felt ill with regret.

"I'm sorry- I didn't think–"

"Didn't think that I might want to keep that private?"

When Rabastan didn't answer, Andromeda let out a short bark of laughter.

"What do you want me to say? All right – Bellatrix and I- when we were children…" She let out a short, impatient sigh, then waved one hand through the air, waving away what she was saying, like it didn't matter. "We slept together. It doesn't matter, it's not as if I still have feelings for her." But her voice cracked, and when she blinked, a tear slid down her cheek.

And Rabastan knew she was lying.

He didn't say so, but after a brief pause, Andromeda said, "Oh, all right… I still… she was just very…" She ran a hand restlessly through her hair. "I don't think I'm ever going to be able to move on from it."

"How was it?" Rabastan asked tentatively.

Andromeda glared at him. "It's a good thing for you that you fancy men, or I'd accuse you of getting off on thinking about us," she told him, and when Rabastan blushed and looked down, mortified at the idea, she said, "It was… it was quite good. She really knew… knew how to… how to…" She gestured at herself, colouring. "How to please me."

"Oh," he said quietly, positively ashamed. He felt as if he was prying, and that humiliated him.

"It felt better with her than with anyone else," she said quietly. "I… I tried it with men… thought that it might feel just as good if they did the same things to me… but it didn't. It wasn't the same. I never…" She blushed almost demurely. "I never really… did _everything_ with a boy until you."

"Oh…"

"Girls were better," she continued. "But still… not as good as her- God, you must think I'm so sick."

"No! Not at all!"

"You don't think incest is sick?" She laughed dryly, but Rabastan tensed. If he was ever going to tell her…

But before he could, before he could gather the will to share his deepest, darkest secret, Andromeda was shaking her head.

"She doesn't want me. She's married. So why should I waste my time thinking about her anymore?"

"Can you just… stop wanting her, then?" Rabastan asked in a very small voice. He didn't think that he would ever be able to just turn his emotions off. If he _could_, if he could just stop lusting after (_loving_) Rodolphus…

"No," Andromeda whispered. "But I can pretend."

And she sounded so tired, so weak and resigned…

Rabastan hesitated, then, against all his inclinations, he leaned over and put one hand on her cheek. He lifted her head slightly, turning it to face him so that she was looking him straight in his eyes.

Then he kissed her.

Her lips were soft and receptive, not hard or insistent the way that the Dark Lord's were, and they parted a little as if in surprise when his touched them. He only held the kiss for a moment, and it was nothing like the heated, passionate ones he had shared with the Dark Lord or his brother, but it felt nice.

When he pulled back, Andromeda's face was slick with tears.

"Why did you do that?" she asked quietly. "I thought you didn't like women."

"I don't," he told her. "But- I thought..." He trailed off nervously, wondering if he'd upset her.

"I don't mind," she whispered back, then she leaned in and kissed him.

It was soft and chaste and gentle, and Rabastan enjoyed it more than he thought he could ever enjoy kissing a girl.

Andromeda wasn't just _a girl_, after all. She was _Andromeda_.

And even if he didn't want to go to bed with her, and didn't ever expect to, he didn't really mind kissing her.


	32. Chapter 32

Painful as the honeymoon had been, it was with a heavy heart that Rabastan packed his bags and prepared to leave the villa when it was over. How would he go back to England and look his father in the eye, knowing what he had done to Andromeda? How would he look at _Cygnus_, knowing not only what he had done to Andromeda, but to Bellatrix and Narcissa too? Could he keep everything secret from Rodolphus, or would it all come spilling out – and if it did, what would happen then?

Or had Bellatrix already told Rodolphus? Perhaps it had already been discussed between them, and Rabastan had never known. Had Rodolphus not told Rabastan for fear of upsetting him – or because he valued the sanctity of a promise not to tell Bellatrix's secrets more than he valued the trust between him and his brother?

_What trust?_

Could Rabastan even trust his brother anymore? He became ever more aware that doing so might be a mistake as the time that he would meet him again drew closer. And moreover, did Rodolphus trust him? Did he still think of him as the brother who could be confided in under any circumstances? Had he _ever_ really? Being away from Rodolphus was making Rabastan doubt everything he had thought he knew about his relationship with his brother.

Did he think now of how Rabastan had kissed him? Did that make him unwilling to trust him?

Rabastan slept little on the eve of his return to England – still not in the same bed as Andromeda; they had not shared a bed in the course of their entire honeymoon. He tossed and turned and wished that Rodolphus was there to hold and soothe him, and he rose in the morning with aches in all his joints and even darker circles beneath his eyes than the ones that were usually there.

Andromeda was already in the kitchen when he went downstairs. Her face was drawn and her lips pressed into a tight line, and she had a tumbler full of red wine in front of her. As Rabastan watched, hesitating in the doorway, she lifted it to her lips and gulped back a mouthful. Her lips twisted into a grimace.

"Good morning, Rabastan," she said quietly when she set it down.

"Andromeda…" He approached her and held one hand out, reaching for the tumbler. "You- you can't drink that all – you'll make yourself sick…"

"I'll stop when I feel drunk enough to go back to England," Andromeda told him, pushing his hand away. She put her elbow on the table and propped her head in her hand, then took another gulp of the wine. Her face twisted again. "It's foul, this stuff," she added in a mutter.

"Please don't…" Rabastan hated seeing Andromeda like this. _Hated_ seeing her drink. Had _always_ hated seeing women drink…

"What do you care?" she asked, but she let him pull the glass out of her hands and sit down beside her.

"I just… I don't want you to hurt yourself."

She sighed and covered her eyes with her hands. "I'll hurt myself more if I'm sober when I go back to England."

He didn't know what to say to that, and after a few moments, she lifted her head and turned to him.

"I don't want to go," she whispered. "I don't want to see my father. Or yours."

"You needn't see them…" Rabastan said, trying and failing to sound comforting. "We- we can go straight to our new manor, and if there's anything you need, I can get it for you…"

"You're sweet," she sighed, then leaned over and rested her forehead on his shoulder. He put one hand tentatively on her back, and when she didn't flinch away, he rubbed it slowly.

They sat like that for a long time, then Andromeda finally straightened up and forced a tight smile onto her face.

"Let's go, then," she said. Rabastan had to help her to her feet – she swayed back and forth when she tried to stand.

It was the first time he could remember ever helping someone else stand. Usually it was other people helping him.

)O(

The manor that Andromeda and Rabastan had been given to live in after their marriage was, just as Rabastan had predicted, not as big or ornate as the one that Bellatrix and Rodolphus had been given. It was hardly even enough to be called a manor. It was run-down and the gardens untended-to, and in the dismal rain that greeted Rabastan and Andromeda upon their return to England, it looked especially miserable.

"Why don't you go in and lie down?" Rabastan asked upon entering the manor. He tried to sound at least a little jovial and failed entirely.

"Fine," Andromeda said dully. She sank down onto the sofa in the parlour, pulled her legs up after her and rested her chin on her fingers. She looked like a sculpture, reclining like that, but without the usual serene smile that such sculptures bore. Rabastan turned away.

He wandered down to the kitchens, where he was greeted by a stooped, bent-eared house-elf that wrung its hands when he approached.

"Master Lestrange," it said in a small, cracked voice, "Your parents said to go to their manor when you arrived home…"

"Why?" Rabastan asked, without much interest. He didn't want to see either of his parents and didn't particularly care what they wanted from him.

"They said they had a visitor for you, Master Lestrange – said that he wished to see you – said that he insisted on waiting for you–"

"Who?" He turned on the house-elf, his heart speeding a little. "Did they say who it was?"

"No, Master Lestrange." It shook its head and backed away, but Rabastan had his suspicions.

_Oh, please…_

He didn't even bother pausing to tell Andromeda where he was going before he Disapparated. He hadn't been so eager to go home for a long time. When he knocked at the door of the manor he had grown up in, he was greeted almost immediately by his mother. His eyes went immediately to her stomach – there was most certainly a bulge showing there, though she was wearing a dress meant to conceal it, he could tell.

"Rabastan." She embraced him, and he smelled vodka on her breath. "Thank goodness you're here – I think he'd never leave otherwise…"

"Who, Mother?"

She pulled back and lowered her voice to a whisper. "The Dark Lord, Rabastan – he insisted upon waiting here for you. Did you have business to carry out with him?"

"In a manner of speaking." Rabastan pushed her away as firmly as he dared. "Where is he?"

"In the parlour." Maria looked as if she wanted to say something else – perhaps ask Rabastan how his honeymoon had been, as if she cared – but he didn't stay to listen to her. He rushed into the parlour and found himself breathless when he saw the Dark Lord – _his Lord, his lover_ – sitting in one of the straight-backed wooden chairs, his face impassive but his position relaxed.

"My Lord," Rabastan managed to whisper, closing the door behind him. "I hadn't expected you."

"I trust you've enjoyed your time abroad with your new wife," the Dark Lord said, and Rabastan thought that he sounded a bit mocking – just mocking enough to make Rabastan blush, at any rate.

"Not very much, my Lord."

"Oh, how unfortunate." His lips curled up into a derisive little half-smile. "Didn't your bride please you?"

"My Lord…" He didn't like him talking about Andromeda that way. "My Lord, I have missed you…"

"I'm sure that you have." The Dark Lord stood and stepped towards Rabastan, and then his arms were around him and he was pressing him back against the door, his breathing quick in Rabastan's ear. "Did you imagine me while you were on top of her?"

"We didn't- we never went to bed together, my Lord," Rabastan stammered, his body reacting automatically to the body pressed against his. "But I- I thought of you- often…"

"Good…" The Dark Lord's hand skimmed down Rabastan's side, coming to rest on his hip. "I thought of you often as well."

"Did you, my Lord?" He tipped his head back and allowed the Dark Lord to run his mouth along the edge of his jaw.

"Yes…" he breathed. Then he pulled back. "I wonder if you'd be able to get away from your new wife on Sunday night?"

A flush rose on Rabastan's face and he found himself smiling. "I'm sure I would, my Lord." Allowing himself a moment of daring, he placed one hand upon the Dark Lord's chest. "But must we wait until Sunday night?"

The Dark Lord chuckled quietly and placed one more light kiss on Rabastan's jaw before pulling back. His eyes gleamed.

"I'm afraid so, Rabastan," he told him. "There are some people that I wish for you to meet, you see, and you won't have a chance until Sunday night. Now, I must be going…"

Rabastan ached and he tightened every muscle in his body against the urge to reach out and pull the Dark Lord back against him, force him to kiss him and touch him and _have him_ right there in his parents' parlour…

"Until Sunday, then," the Dark Lord whispered in his ear, then brushed past him, out of the parlour, leaving Rabastan shivering with pure frustration, his mind full of possibilities as to who the Dark Lord might want him to meet on Sunday night.

Sunday, he thought, couldn't come quickly enough.


	33. Chapter 33

Andromeda withdrew even further from Rabastan once they were back in England – a feat of some skill, he thought, as she had withdrawn from him quite successfully already. She didn't speak, didn't even look at him, and though Rabastan had no choice anymore but to share a bed with her – for their new house was not furnished with bedrooms that suited him; they were all dreadfully cold and dingy – she spent the nights with her back to him, curled up and unmoving, though he suspected that she was awake. Rabastan hated it.

She was sitting in the library with a book open in her lap and her eyes glazed over when Sunday night came. Rabastan was unsure about how to tell her where he was going – much as she had said that she didn't disapprove of his relationship with the Dark Lord, he couldn't help but feel that she would be upset if she knew that he was visiting him. Rabastan himself felt that if Andromeda had told him that she would be spending an evening with a woman, he would be jealous.

He hovered awkwardly in the library door until she looked at him.

"What is it?" she asked quietly, tiredly.

"I'm going to be spending the evening with the Dark Lord," he said hesitantly. "If… you don't mind…"

"Oh. No. I don't."

"Oh." Rabastan shifted awkwardly, his face hot. "If… if I don't come home, don't worry about me."

"I won't. Have a good time." Andromeda's voice was flat and emotionless. "Enjoy the night with your lover."

Rabastan wanted to shrivel and die from embarrassment. He exited the library in haste, the word _lover_ echoing in his mind in Andromeda's voice. Hearing her say it out loud sounded strange, awkward and over-personal. He shivered a bit, but tried to put it out of his mind as he examined himself in a mirror in hopes that he looked suitably mature (_he didn't_), then Disapparated.

The Dark Lord's flat was lit and when he reached the door, he heard voices behind it – unfamiliar voices, low and serious, clearly engaged in important conversation. He waited at the door for a moment when the conversation subsided before knocking.

The door was opened immediately, and the Dark Lord greeted him with his usual small smile and a gesture of his hand.

"Come in, Rabastan, come in."

Rabastan stepped inside hesitantly. The room was filled with far more men than it should have held – most sitting in chairs arranged around the table, but some lounging on the sofa and still others on cushions on the floor. The Dark Lord was at the table, composed and handsome as ever, and Rabastan felt a small knot in his stomach.

"My Lord," he said, inclining his head.

"Men…" The Dark Lord stood and extended his hand to Rabastan. "Allow me to introduce Rabastan Lestrange. He will be joining our ranks, as a young man with much potential–"

There was a snort from one of the men on the floor. He had been leaning back against the wall, his face hidden, and when he turned, Rabastan recognized Cygnus Black. The knot in Rabastan's stomach transformed to a stone.

"My Lord," Cygnus said, straightening up. "Rabastan Lestrange is married to my daughter, and allow me to assure you, he has no potential whatsoever. He would make a worthless Death Eater. Why, he is no more than a boy, and so sickly…"

_Humiliating._

Rabastan turned away, dizzy with fury and shame. How _dare_ Cygnus say such things about him, and in front of the Dark Lord and all these other men – how _dare_ he!

"I believe that I am a better judge than you, Cygnus, of who has the potential to assist me in my work," the Dark Lord said coolly, and his hand brushed lightly against Rabastan's arm. "Your opinions are noted, but seeing as it was on your testimony that I first sought out Rabastan…"

"My testimony? I can have said nothing in his favour!"

"Indeed, you didn't," the Dark Lord said, and now he sounded positively icy. "But it was still on account of what you said that I sought him out, and I have come to the conclusion that he will be more than suitable, and I shall hear no more about it from you. Now, Rabastan, sit down."

Rabastan was unsure of how to feel – furious that Cygnus had spoken so rudely of him, or thrilled that the Dark Lord had come to his defence – but he said nothing and took care to express no emotion while he took a vacant seat at the table. The Dark Lord inclined his head briefly, then sat down across from him, in the same seat he had formerly occupied. He folded his hands lightly across his lap and looked out at the men in the room.

"I'm sure you all recall your own initiations, and the men you were when you first took my Mark," he said, and though his voice remained cool and nonchalante, there was a power behind it now that Rabastan did not recall hearing when the Dark Lord spoke under other circumstances. He sounded more commanding now, more powerful even than he had before, and as if he was speaking a speech to masses rather than simply saying a few words to a group of men in his flat. "I am sure that you all remember the things that you have gone through, the ordeals that have made you the men you are today – ordeals that Rabastan Lestrange has not yet experienced, but nor had you at the time of your initiation."

A murmur rippled through the room. Rabastan could not imagine what the Dark Lord was referring to – he wished now that he followed his political actions as religiously as Bellatrix did, for that would surely give him some greater insight into the sort of things that would be expected of him if he took the Dark Mark…

_The Dark Mark_.

Rabastan was suddenly overcome. The Dark Lord had spoken of branding Rabastan as one of his Death Eaters on their very first night together, but the matter had come up so rarely since then that Rabastan had put it in the back of his mind. He had assumed that the Dark Lord's interest in him was romantic and sexual before it was political, and he had given little thought to what it would mean to take the Dark Mark. Did this mean, then, that the other men here were all Death Eaters? Were they the Dark Lord's servants, and did they assume that they knew their Master better than Rabastan did?

The thought of Cygnus speaking to the Dark Lord in private angered Rabastan in ways that it should not have, for in spite of all the times that the Dark Lord had assured him that he had no other lovers, Rabastan had never been able to quash the sense that there was a grain of untruth to what he was saying. And it would sting him badly if the Dark Lord took a lover like Cygnus Black…

No. He had no reason to make that assumption, save that he suspected infidelity – not for any reason, only because of his own paranoia – and Cygnus seemed overconfident in his own knowledge of the Dark Lord. He seemed overconfident in his knowledge of Rabastan too, and that meant nothing. He seemed overconfident in many things.

Rabastan thought of Andromeda, sitting at home, while he was here with her father – who had done such horrible things to her – and fresh guilt sickened him.

"You will, therefore," the Dark Lord continued, and Rabastan turned his attention swiftly to him once more, "do all in your capability to assist Rabastan Lestrange in his rise to the level of experience and power that you yourselves hold. Bear in mind that his youth does not make him inferior to you – in fact, that it gives him an advantage, for he shall be young enough to enjoy the world that we are doing so much to create. And so you shall show him the respect you have for each other – the respect that one member of our group must have for another."

Rabastan lost focus again, and glanced around the room, searching for other familiar faces. Abraxas Malfoy was on the sofa, hood up and head bowed, but unmistakable, for strands of his long, pale hair were visible around his face. When the Dark Lord spoke of respect, Rabastan thought he saw Abraxas's head twitch a little and his eyes – under the shadow of his hood – cast towards Cygnus, but it was over too swiftly for Rabastan to be sure.

There were no other men that Rabastan knew closely. He thought he recognized some of them as former Hogwarts students, a few years ahead of him, but he could not have been sure.

"Rabastan," the Dark Lord said, and the sound of Rabastan's name brought him back to attention. "You have said in the past that you are willing to give yourself to the Death Eaters and our cause. But I ask again, and I expect an earnest answer now – do you wish to give your life to us?"

"I do, my Lord," Rabastan said immediately. His mind was on how he had felt when he had given the Dark Lord that promise, those months ago – how they had been here in his flat, in nearly the same place, and how heated he had been…

"You understand, Rabastan, do you not, that by choosing to give yourself to the Death Eaters, you will acknowledge that they – we – shall become your first duty."

"I understand, my Lord."

"Your life will change when you have taken the Mark and pledged your life to us. Much will be expected of you, but if you are faithful and do well, you shall be rewarded richly and fairly."

"I understand, my Lord," Rabastan repeated, then added, "I thank you, my Lord."

And now the Dark Lord was leaning across the table. He reached out for Rabastan's arm and caught him by his wrist in a grip so firm that Rabastan could never have broken it, even if he wanted to. He pushed back Rabastan's sleeve, then drew his wand, and the room went silent. Rabastan's heartbeat quickened – he knew not what the Dark Lord would do to him, and he was afraid in spite of himself.

The Dark Lord lowered the tip to the inside of Rabastan's arm. A shiver went through his body – most particularly through his chest and his groin – and he tried to catch the Dark Lord's eye.

"My Lord…"

"There will be pain, Rabastan," he said, his voice almost gentle. "But it is nothing you cannot stand, I am sure."

And then he tapped his wand against the inside of Rabastan's wrist, and Rabastan thought that he had set his arm on fire.

Burning pain shot through the skin, crawling slowly higher and higher along his arm, towards his elbow. Rabastan closed his eyes tightly and bit down on his tongue, praying that the pain would not manifest by making his eyes become teary – he could not have stood to cry in front of these men – and yet it was the most pain that he had ever suffered, more than he had ever felt in his life…

Only when he thought he could stand it no longer did the pain subside, but before he dared open his eyes, he felt something being wrapped tightly around his arm from wrist to elbow. When he did look, he saw his lower arm wrapped in bandages, and blood seeping from them. The smell of scorched flesh had filled the room, and the men who Rabastan could see looked ill.

The Dark Lord, however, smiled.

"Well done, Rabastan," he praised, still rather gently. "You have taken your first step towards success in my army. The rest is but a matter of time."

Rabastan sat, eyes glazed over, while the other men spoke – not of anything consequential, only of matters of money and women and other such things that did not interest Rabastan. The Dark Lord, when Rabastan looked at him, appeared bored as well, but Rabastan dared not strike up a private conversation with him.

It seemed an eternity before the other men began to leave, and it was only after every one was gone that the Dark Lord looked at Rabastan again.

"My Lord," Rabastan said, and now that they were alone, his voice choked with emotion. "My Lord, I did not know that this was what you intended when you asked for me to come here tonight…"

"I hope you did not mind," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching up. "Surely this is preferable to lovemaking."

"Yes, my Lord, of course – I am so honoured…"

"And yet it is to lovemaking that your mind strays now… you are as predictable as any man, Rabastan, in that way if in no other." The Dark Lord seemed amused, and he stood and extended a hand to Rabastan. "I take it that your bride had no objections to you being here."

"No, my Lord. She understands that you and I…" Rabastan trailed off, blushing a bit, and was relieved that the Dark Lord did not seem to require him to finish the sentence. He drew him close, and his lips hovered inches from Rabastan's ear.

"Then let us take advantage of her understanding," he said quietly, and then they were on the couch and Rabastan was pinned beneath his Master, who was laying kisses across his neck and chest and murmuring that it had been _far too long_.

It was wonderful to be with him again.

And more wonderful still, because he was now Marked in the same way that the other Death Eaters were, and he shared his Master's bed as well, and that made him more than lover _or_ servant.

Rabastan could only imagine the honour he would receive, the favour he would garner from the Dark Lord when he had the chance.

He would be his finest Death Eater, he thought.

And there was a part of him that remembered that he _needed_ to be, because if Rabastan lost the Dark Lord, he stood now to lose almost everything.


	34. Chapter 34

Rabastan woke up alone on the sofa.

At his first awareness that he was alone, his eyes snapped open and he sat up so fast that the blood rushed from his head, forcing him to slump back down. The next thing he felt was a deep pain that shot through his arm, and when he looked, he saw dark blood staining his bandages.

"I trust you slept well."

Rabastan looked up. The Dark Lord was at the table, not facing Rabastan. There was a book open in front of him.

"I did, my Lord." He sat up again, slower this time, and squinted at the window. Pale light was filtering through. "What time is it?"

"Past seven." He turned to him. The early light cast his face into shadow. "You should go home. I've kept you for far too long. Your dear wife will be worried."

"I told you last night, my Lord – she knows I'm here. She's happy for me." Rabastan stood up, intending to move closer to the Dark Lord, perhaps kiss him.

"She lies. And dress yourself, Rabastan."

Rabastan's face grew hot. He turned away quickly and picked up his shirt and trousers from the chair where he had placed them last night.

"What wife," the Dark Lord continued, "would be happy to know that her husband was staying out all night? Even if she knows already that you are unfaithful, she could not help but be hurt."

"She is not hurt. She accepts it."

"Then she is a liar." The Dark Lord turned to Rabastan with a sneer on his face. "If she says that she accepts your infidelity, she is a liar, or a fool, or both. Women are possessive, jealous creatures, Rabastan – it pleases them to believe they have complete control over men."

"Andromeda is not like that." Rabastan didn't know why he was coming to Andromeda's defence, but come to her defence he did. "She does not want to control me. She is as unhappy in the marriage as I am."

"And what makes you sure of that?"

Rabastan didn't answer – he couldn't. What loyalty he had to Andromeda prevented him from sharing her intimate secrets, even with the Dark Lord.

"You are right, my Lord – I should go," he said at last.

"Quite." Rabastan didn't think he had ever heard the Dark Lord sound so completely disinterested in him. "And next Sunday, I expect you to be here at ten o'clock sharply. Now that you are one of my Death Eaters, I will require your presence more regularly."

"Of course, my Lord."

"And Rabastan…"

"Yes, my Lord?"

He stood and moved to him, placing his long, cool fingers gently on his cheek. "You understand, I'm sure, that I would prefer for our relationship to remain private," he murmured in his ear. "I assume you feel the same way – surely you wouldn't wish for people to widely know that you go to bed with a man while you are married…"

"Y- you are correct, my Lord." Rabastan's breath hitched a little and he fought the urge to move closer, perhaps put his arms around him.

"Resist the temptation to flaunt our relationship. Of course, you have my favour…" His hand slipped down Rabastan's back, and he pulled him against him. "But it would be in both of our best interests if other people didn't know. It will be our secret… yes?" His lips were inches from Rabastan's.

"Yes, my Lord."

He kissed him, firmly and sharply, and then let go. "Until Sunday, then."

That seemed like a dreadfully long time, a long time to be apart, but Rabastan didn't dare ask him if they could see each other again sooner. He couldn't think of the words to say.

Rabastan exited without saying anything more, and the Dark Lord was still on his mind when he arrived back at the manor.

It was silent. Andromeda was probably asleep, he thought – it was early still, after all. Rabastan only hoped that she hadn't been drinking, and hadn't passed out after too much alcohol – he so hated to think of his wife drinking, for even if he wasn't in love with her, he still cared for her enough to be concerned about her health.

_And the health of her unborn child_.

Rabastan started up the stairs, intending to go to their bedroom and check to be sure that she was there in bed. He could smell her for alcohol, then perhaps lie down with her so that she would wake up with him at her side. He could try at least to be a good friend, if not a good husband…

Halfway up the stairs, Rabastan's head began to spin.

That was nothing unusual. He had long since grown used to frequently being brought to the brink of unconsciousness for any number of reasons – eating too much, not eating enough, drinking too much, not drinking enough, too much sleep, too little sleep. He was probably suffering the effects of staying up half the night, making love to his Master, with no food or water to sustain him. But when he reached out to grasp the banister to support himself so he could pull himself up to the floor above and sit down, burning pain stabbed through his forearm and he lost his grip.

He scrabbled at the wood, but between his spinning head and the pain in the arm, he couldn't get a grip. His knees turned to water, and then the world was spinning upside down, and Rabastan could hear thumping as different parts of him crashed against the stairs and the walls. Pains shot through him, not quite in tandem with the parts of him that were being hit. Then there was one last terrible crash, Rabastan was briefly aware of a crunch of wood against the back of his head, and everything went black.

There was a moment of blissful oblivion, then there was terrible pain, and light began to show up in blurry, half-formed shapes. Rabastan heard a high-pitched, feminine scream, and when things began to come into focus, he could see Andromeda rushing down the stairs towards him. Her hair was unbound and she was pulling a robe around herself as she ran.

"Rabastan! Oh, Rabastan!"

But Rabastan's eyes had already moved past her. Everything was fuzzy and doubled, but he was positive that he caught a glimpse of someone on the floor above, fleeing in the opposite direction of the stairs.

"Who…" he tried to ask, but Andromeda was in the way now, blocking his view of the corridor upstairs, and hovering over him with her hands flitting nervously across his arms and chest.

"Oh, Rabastan, what happened?" She tucked her hair back and pressed her hand gently against a spot on his rib cage. Pain stabbed through his middle and he winced.

"I fell – that hurts."

"But what happened? Did you slip? Faint?" She reached for the buttons of his shirt, then paused. "May I?"

Rabastan blushed and nodded weakly, but didn't answer her question. His mouth was filled with the taste of blood – he supposed he had bitten down on his tongue while he fell.

She undid his shirt with surprisingly tender hands, then spread it open and began prodding gently at his chest and sides, feeling for broken bones.

"Who… was that?" Rabastan asked at last. His mouth felt swollen and it was hard to speak.

"What?" Andromeda's head snapped up. Her face was stark white. "Who was who, Rabastan? Oh- I think you might have broken a rib," she interrupted herself, touching Rabastan's side. He felt like someone had stuck a knife into him where she was touching him.

"Bones can be mended." Rabastan's mind was as fuzzy as his vision. "Who was that… running away?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Andromeda said, but the corners of her lips twitched back into an unmistakable expression of fear before she collected herself. "Is your neck hurt, Rab? Can you turn your head?"

Rabastan managed to turn his head very slightly to the left, and then to the right. It hurt, but it was mobile. He had crashed into an end table, he saw – it had cracked, and he was sprawled against the legs.

"We should have a healer look at you."

"They'll only tell me that I'm going to die," he said, taking a moment to close his eyes and breathe deeply, trying to control his reactions to pain. He had had practice being in pain before; he was used to it. "Was there someone upstairs with you?"

"No, of course not, Rabastan." Andromeda's voice was high and a little fearful – he could so easily tell that she was lying, but he couldn't think why she would. "Who would I have upstairs?"

"A lover?" Rabastan raised one arm, wincing, and rubbed his eyes lightly.

She looked like she was going to be sick, and he couldn't think why. He looked at her, perplexed. "I wouldn't mind…"

"I didn't have anyone with me!" Andromeda's voice went shrill. "You're making a mistake, Rabastan – I don't know what you think you saw, but I can assure you that I was quite alone!"

He didn't have the strength to argue, not then, so he leaned back a little. Andromeda started tugging his shirt off gently, not meeting his eyes.

"I'm sure you'll be all right," she mumbled, sounding as if she was speaking more to herself than him, reassuring herself. "Bones are easy to mend… just a few bruises… oh!"

She had reached his forearm, and Rabastan followed her eyes, looking down at the bloodstained bandages that were wrapped around his arm from where the Dark Lord had marked him last night.

"Oh, that–" Rabastan began, but Andromeda was already unwrapping the bandages, and his tongue felt too sluggish and slow to tell her to stop. She was moving quickly, undoing round after round of white linen stained brown and red, and then the bandage was off, lying in a bloody heap beside them. Rabastan looked at down at his flesh, seeing what had been done to his arm for the first time.

The flesh was scorched black, like he had been cut with a burning knife, and every line was a little rough and scabbed over, making the overall effect grotesque and unclean, but Rabastan immediately recognized the Dark Mark, the symbol of the Death Eaters, burned freshly into his skin.

He smiled for a moment, proud, and then he looked up at Andromeda and his smile disappeared.

"What is this?" she whispered, and he was shocked to hear hatred in her voice.

"The Dark Mark… I- I was Marked last night…"

"A Death Eater, Rabastan?" she asked quietly, and now she sounded less hateful and more bitter, resentful, as if he had somehow betrayed her, though he could not think how he could have done that. "You've become a Death Eater?"

"Of course." And _still_ he could not fathom her reaction. What cause could she possibly have for being upset. "It was only a matter of time before the Dark Lord took me…"

She rose and turned away without another word. He could see her shaking and clenching her fists.

"What's _wrong_?" he asked, but she didn't answer, only stalked away, leaving him confused and in pain, in a heap on the ground.


	35. Chapter 35

Andromeda didn't speak to him for the rest of the day, or the next day, or the next. She spent most of her time in their bedroom, obviously feigning sleep – she made a good show of lying still with her eyes closed, but her breathing was uneven and became shallow when he got near her. After the first day, Rabastan stopped trying to speak to her, and retired to the library, where he pondered the Dark Lord, and what it would mean for him to be a Death Eater, and the subject that crept into his mind whenever he was left idle for too long – who had been with Andromeda when he came home?

He would not have begrudged her taking a lover. She had, after all, not begrudged his time with the Dark Lord. He might even have encouraged it – surely it would be healthy for her to have someone who could distract her from all the awful things happening in her life. So he did not wonder about who it was because of some misplaced sense of jealousy, or even pure curiosity about who his wife was taking to bed. He only wondered who it was because he was _so_ sure that he had seen her, and Andromeda had so vehemently denied it. He could simply see no reason for her to lie.

Maybe it had been Bellatrix, he thought. Perhaps their relationship was not over, the way he and Rodolphus had been led to believe. Or perhaps it had been Narcissa, who Rabastan thought a weak-willed little thing who could most likely be easily coerced into going to bed with her sister. Andromeda would be ashamed to admit that she had committed incest – after all, she didn't know how Rabastan felt about his brother…

Rabastan sprawled across the sofa in the library, watching the ravens that perched on the branches of trees outside the window. The branches tapped and scraped against the glass, and every so often, a raven would ruffle its feathers and take flight, only to be replaced momentarily by another. He idly stroked his forearm, tracing his fingers around the raw black lines of the Dark Mark and pondering whether there was any way that he could discreetly ask Andromeda about her lover – if she ever spoke to him again.

He heard a soft cough and looked up quickly, straightening on the sofa. Andromeda was standing in the library doorway, her arms crossed protectively across her chest and her head ducked. A few strands of her hair fell across her face. Even from the distance, Rabastan thought her hair looked unclean, and he wondered when she had last washed.

"What is it?" he asked, perhaps a bit more shortly than he had intended. Andromeda's lips tightened.

"I only thought you should know that we're to have company for dinner tonight," she said quietly, not looking at him, but instead focussing her eyes on a spot on the floor in between them.

"Who?" Rabastan stood up, then clutched the edge of the sofa for support as stars popped before his eyes. Andromeda looked up quickly, fear flashing on her face, but Rabastan held his hand up. "I'm fine – just a moment…" And when his head cleared, he gave her a weak smile. "Who is going to be here for dinner?"

"Bellatrix and Rodolphus," she said, dropping her eyes again.

"Why?" _Why_ was perhaps the least tactful thing Rabastan could have said, but it was out before he could stop it.

"Bellatrix said that she wanted to see how we're getting on as a couple."

"That's not her business!" he said sharply, and Andromeda winced.

"Don't shout."

"I'm not shouting!"

Andromeda's lips pressed into a tight line and she took a bit of her hair between her fingers, twirling it back and forth and pulling on it, presumably to have something to do with her hand. "I thought you would be happy to see your brother."

"I would be."

"And I'd be happy to see my sister, so we'll both be happy. I'm not about to argue with you about this, Rabastan."

"You might have asked me before inviting them."

"You might have asked me before you took the Dark Mark," Andromeda said coldly, and Rabastan was seized by a sudden, sharp pang of anger.

"_What_? Is that what this is about? What _is_ it that has you so upset? I don't understand why it should bother you that I pledged myself to such a noble cause – especially when you already knew that the Dark Lord and I…"

"I knew that you and he went to bed together – that doesn't mean I expected you to suddenly give your life up for him! And what is the noble cause? I don't believe that the things he does are so very noble!"

Rabastan stared at Andromeda, now confused rather than angry.

"_Not noble_? He- he is committed to the purification of the Wizarding world!"

He could scarcely believe that she was saying such things to him – and why did it matter to her in any case? What interest did she have in Mudbloods and Muggles? She had been raised as he had been, had heard all the same truths about what Muggles did to each other – their unrefined and messy methods of killing; the two gory and vile wars still fresh in the memories of their grandparents and remembered even by their parents; the way they denied the existence of magic and hunted those who could perform it and even those who recognized its presence. How could Andromeda justify defending the existence of such animalistic creatures?

And Mudbloods – what could even account for their presence on the planet? It was _wrong_, all wrong that someone with no magical blood in their family could gain magical powers. They absorbed the magic of other Wizards, Rabastan had been told; they were leeches, and they could not even help it – it was in their destructive, unholy natures. Muggles did Wizards' work for them where Mudbloods were concerned; they killed Mudbloods without second thought, or – so Rabastan had heard – put them into prison-hospitals and diagnosed them with illnesses in their minds. Even if they were not killed, what little magical talent they could learn to use properly would be corrupted by the Muggles.

"Muggles are animals," he told her. "They do nothing but conceive of ways to kill each other – and us! Think on it, Andromeda – they have so many ways to kill that _we_ hide from _them_, even with our natural superiority! And Mudbloods, they- they are nothing more than abominations! They are not meant to be! What are we to do if we do not kill them?"

"Perhaps…" Andromeda spoke through gritted teeth. "Perhaps if we taught them, if we taught them what it was to be a Wizard, and showed the Muggles that they should not be so barbaric towards us–"

"It's in their nature, Andromeda! Don't you know about their wars?"

She cut across him. "And if we accepted Mudbloods as our own–"

"_As our own?_ You don't mean _breed_ with them? My God, Andromeda, we're not meant to _mate_ with Mudbloods!"

"Listen to yourself, Rabastan!" Andromeda took a step forward, not threateningly, but urgently, as if she wanted to impress upon him what she was saying. "Not meant to _mate_ with them? Last I checked, men aren't exactly meant to _mate_ with other men, and I don't see that stopping you!"

Rabastan flushed, mortified, and Andromeda broke off, breathing heavily. She looked down briefly, then back up at him, and her face was cold and angry.

"I can't stop you from fighting on behalf of the Dark Lord," she said. "But for your own sake, Rabastan, I hope that you're fighting for him because you have feelings for him and not because you believe for an instant the things that he stands for."

Rabastan didn't say anything to that. There wasn't any point. She was already furious, he could tell, and it would be better for both of them if he didn't do anything more to provoke her.

"Bellatrix and Rodolphus will be here at six," Andromeda said, after a few moments more of tense silence. "And I would _appreciate_ it, Rabastan, if you treated Bellatrix civilly."

_She's done nothing to deserve my civility_.

"I will," Rabastan muttered.

"Fine." Andromeda's voice was shaking. "Then I'm going down to the kitchens. I'd like to be left alone. I'm sure that won't be difficult for you," she added. "You seem remarkably skilled at leaving me alone."

Rabastan resisted the urge to protest – he only left her to herself because she ignored him, because she gave him permission, because he didn't know what to say to her – but she was already at the door, and there was only one thing that he managed to say before she was gone.

"Don't drink."

Andromeda turned back. "What?"

"Don't…" Rabastan swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "Please… don't drink any wine or- or alcohol… please."

For a split second, Andromeda looked sad, so terribly sad, like a lost child. But then her face hardened again.

"Try to stop me," she told him, then slammed the door behind her so hard that the all the ravens outside the window took flight in a flurry of flapping wings and muffled screeches.


	36. Chapter 36

Rabastan spent the rest of the day dreading the evening. He sat in the library and stared out the window, wishing that he had the nerve to run away. He wondered idly whether the Dark Lord would take him in, should he show up at his flat that evening and beg to stay there forever. It would be less miserable than living with Andromeda and having to pretend to feel any warmth for Bellatrix.

But he couldn't leave Andromeda, not in the state she was in. She would have to go back to her father…

Rabastan shuddered at the thought. No wonder she drank. He could hardly blame her for that, even if he didn't like it…

The sun was setting by the time Andromeda stepped into the library. Her face was expressionless, her eyes dull.

"They're here," she said flatly, and Rabastan struggled to his feet and trudged out of the library after her.

Bellatrix and Rodolphus were at the door, Bellatrix wrapped in a beautiful dark coat and looking at Rabastan with a strange little smirk on her lips. He eyed her warily and she turned away, looking up at Rodolphus, who was resting against the wall, hunched over with his arms crossed across his chest. He straightened when he saw Rabastan and took half a step towards him. When he stepped into the light, Rabastan saw dark circles around his brother's eyes. He looked as if he hadn't slept in days.

"What a pleasure to see you, Rabastan," Bellatrix said, slipping her coat off and tossing it carelessly over the back of a chair. Rabastan could not help but notice that the dress she was wearing was inappropriately low-cut and her corset laced particularly tightly so her breasts near spilled from the top. He wanted to reprove her and tell her to put her coat back on, but the words stuck in his throat.

"A pleasure," he echoed at last, spitting the words out with some distaste.

Bellatrix stretched her arms out wide, then rested one hand lightly on Rodolphus's shoulder and looked at Andromeda expectantly. "Aren't you going to invite us into the parlour, Andi, darling?"

"Of course, of course." A blush was rising on Andromeda's face and she indicated that they should follow her. Bellatrix followed her sister quickly, but Rodolphus hung back at Rabastan's side.

"You look ill, Rodolphus," Rabastan murmured, trying to keep his voice down.

Rodolphus's lips twitched into a small, rather forced smile. "I don't believe you've ever had occasion to tell me that before, Rabastan – I normally tell _you_ that _you_ look ill."

"Have you not been sleeping?" Rabastan pressed.

"Bad dreams." Rodolphus looked down and clutched Rabastan's hand tightly in his. "I… but never mind…"

Rabastan resisted the urge to ask more, to press his brother for further information about what had been troubling his dreams, to search for an opportunity to help his brother for once. He was so used to being comforted in his sickness that it would have been something of a pleasure to be able to sponge his brother's brow and tell him that he would be well soon…

He shivered a bit and shook off the thought. He could not – _would not_ – entertain such thoughts while he was supposed to be having dinner with Rodolphus and Bellatrix. Particularly Bellatrix – he did not like the way she looked at him, and she already knew far more about the personal details of his life than he would have liked her to.

"Rabastan, Rodolphus?" Bellatrix was leaning out of the parlour, looking back up the corridor at them. "Aren't you coming?"

"Of course," Rodolphus said, and he quickened his pace and left Rabastan behind.

Rabastan followed hesitantly, and when he reached the parlour, Bellatrix and Andromeda had taken one sofa and Rodolphus was sitting rather uneasily on the other. He joined his brother, taking care not to get close enough to touch him.

"How are you?" Bellatrix asked. She was not being as conscientious about staying away from Andromeda as Rabastan was from Rodolphus, he thought – her foot kept brushing against Andromeda's leg.

"We've been well," Andromeda said quietly. "As well as can be expected. We- we really should eat- we can eat here, if you like," she added. "I'll have the house-elves bring the food up here."

"Fine, fine," Bellatrix waved her hand airily. "You must know that we're here because we want to see you two, not because we're hungry."

Andromeda snapped her fingers and a house-elf appeared. She ducked her head to speak to it, and Rabastan let his eyes flick to his brother. Rodolphus was sagging into the corner of the sofa, looking quite miserable.

The house-elf disappeared with a crack, and a moment later, returned with a platter balanced on each hand. It set them down on the table that ran between the two sofas, keeping his head down all the while, then Disapparated again and returned with two more platters.

"Bring some wine as well," Bellatrix ordered, and it nodded and appeared once more, a few moments later, with two bottles of wine and four glasses.

"That will be all," Andromeda told it quietly, and it gave one more nod before making a final exit. There was a moment of tense silence, then Bellatrix poured wine into one of the glasses, right to the brim, and drank it back in a single, sickening gulp. She took up her fork and began to pick at her food. Andromeda balanced hers on her lap to eat and Rodolphus picked at his from the table in the same manner as Bellatrix. Rabastan didn't touch it – he didn't feel the slightest bit hungry.

"Rabastan," Bellatrix said, and he looked up at her, daring her to ask why he wasn't eating. But she didn't say anything of the sort. Instead, she lay her fork down and poured herself another brimming glass of wine, then sipped it and met his eyes.

"Yes?"

"Well…" Bellatrix twisted a lock of her dark hair slowly around one finger. "You know, Rabastan, I heard something from my father the other night… something concerning you."

Rabastan felt as if a large stone had settled in his stomach. "Oh?"

"He said that you were with the Dark Lord that night – at a meeting." She had been reclining, but now she sat up, moving her foot away from Andromeda's leg, and she leaned forward eagerly, her eyes wide and searching. "Is that true?"

"Y–" Rabastan's mouth was dry and he swallowed hard. "Yes."

"And," she continued, "he said that you took the Dark Mark."

"What?" Rodolphus sat up straight at that and turned to Rabastan, looking surprised and perhaps even a little excited. "Rabastan, is that true? Oh, why didn't you tell- let me see." He reached out and took his brother's arm, and Rabastan flushed with a bit of pride when Rodolphus peeled back his sleeve and ran a fingertip around the Mark. "Oh, Rabastan…" His voice was full of emotion. "That's- oh, that's wonderful."

"So you did take it." Bellatrix stood from the sofa and leaned over it, inspecting it as if she had any sort of authority. "Well. If I had known, I wouldn't ever have bothered…"

"Known what? Bothered with what?" Rabastan could hear the veiled insult in her tone already, but he couldn't stop himself from asking. Bellatrix laughed a little shrilly.

"If I had known that anyone who went to bed with the Dark Lord could take the Mark, I wouldn't have bothered learning about the Dark Arts."

"Bellatrix!" Rodolphus cried, and Rabastan felt as if he would die of shame. His face burned.

"That isn't why he made me a Death Eater!" he said, but Bellatrix only snorted and laughed.

"Oh, isn't it? Why did he make you one, then?"

"I'm sure the Dark Lord saw a lot of talent in Rabastan–" Rodolphus began, but Bellatrix cut him off with a snort.

"He's only a little boy! He's too weak to fight, and he doesn't even have it in his blood – after all, he has _you_ for a brother!"

"How _dare_ you!" Rabastan cried. She could insult him all she wanted, but he would not allow her to say such things about his brother.

"Oh, aren't you both sweet and protective?" Bellatrix snorted. "But you both know it's the truth."

"Bella, please," Andromeda pleaded quietly, but Bellatrix paid her no mind. She sloshed some wine into a glass and downed it, then turned back on Rodolphus and Rabastan.

"So," she said, much more loudly than Rabastan thought necessary. "As you're taking advantage of your relationship with him, I think it's only fair that you should tell us about the relationship."

"Don't be crude, Bellatrix," Andromeda said, but again, Bellatrix ignored her. She moved close to Rabastan, until her lips were only inches from his ear.

"What do you do with your little lover, hmm, Rab?" she purred. "Does he make sweet love to you, all kisses and embraces like in a romance novel – or does he ride you like an animal?"

"Bellatrix!" Andromeda nearly screamed. "You can't ask questions like that!"

"Don't you _dare_ speak to my brother that way!" Rodolphus shouted at the same time, reaching out and pulling Rabastan away from her. Bellatrix, unfazed, threw her head back and laughed.

"I'd suspect he rides you like an animal," she continued, brazen as a whore, and a particularly bold whore at that. "Does he, Rab, darling? Come on, tell us – does your lover fuck your brains out into his filthy sheets?"

"His sheets are _not_ filthy," was all that Rabastan could think to say, and Bellatrix only laughed harder at that.

"Don't you think so? You Lestranges have _such_ poor standards–"

"How would you know anything about his sheets?" Rabastan hissed.

Bellatrix quieted, and there was a moment of very tense silence before she began to laughing again, but not the mocking laughter she had been letting out seconds before. She was giggling coyly and almost gleefully.

"Oh dear," she managed, her eyes alight. "I suppose I oughtn't to have said… but they really are filthy, Rab – I wouldn't have touched them, but that I would never lower myself to be taken on the sofa where anyone could see…"

Rodolphus looked like he was about to be ill. He stood up slowly, his face as white as paper except for the dark circles around his eyes. Bellatrix looked at him, still giggling like a madwoman, and lifted one shoulder in a small, careless shrug.

Rodolphus turned and fled the room, and Rabastan followed him, his eyes stinging with tears and Bellatrix's laughter still ringing out from the parlour.


	37. Chapter 37

Rodolphus headed straight for the door, and Rabastan had to dash after him, clutching a stitch in his side all the way. He only caught up to him when Rodolphus was at the door, pulling his cloak on.

"Rod," he managed, gasping for air. "Rod, please don't go!"

Rodolphus whirled around, and Rabastan saw his eyes glittering with tears. He opened his mouth to offer some sort of comfort – though he didn't know exactly what he would say – but before he could get anything out, Rodolphus grabbed him and hugged him tightly against his chest.

"What do you want me to do to him, Rab?"

Rabastan pulled back and looked up at him, his eyebrows drawing together slightly. "Pardon?"

"The Dark Lord." Rodolphus dashed his tears from his eyes, and his lips turned down into a sharp defiant frown. "What do you want me to do to him? I'll kill him if that's what you want."

"I… I don't… what are you talking about?" Rabastan looked at him helplessly, quite lost. "Why does it matter what I want – you're the one whose wife he seduced–"

"Whose _wife_ he seduced?" Rodolphus let out a short bark of laughter. "You think I- who cares about _that_? I don't give a _fuck_ about Bellatrix! She can go to Hell for all I care – but I'll be _damned_ if I'm going to let anyone be unfaithful to you!"

Rabastan's throat tightened and he felt his eyes fill with tears. His brother's fierce expression and stance spoke of a primitive sort of protectiveness – it was the look he would have assumed when they were children and Rabastan was teased. So touched was he that he could barely stammer out, "Y- you're angry on _my_ behalf?"

"Of course I am!" Rodolphus reached out and pulled Rabastan into his tight embrace again. Rabastan winced as he pushed against his recently-healed ribs and the still-raw wound of his Dark Mark, but he didn't struggle. "I mean, Christ, Rab, I _knew_ Bellatrix would…" He trailed off, and Rabastan would have pressed further for what he meant if Rodolphus had not quickly continued, "I'm not surprised that she'd have an affair – but that she'd _dare_- with _your_…"

"I don't believe she did," Rabastan said quietly and firmly, as if, by some magic, saying that would negate the heavy, sinking feeling in his stomach that indicated all to clearly that he completely believed her.

Rodolphus let out a low, shuddering sigh, and stroked his hair gently. "Yeah… you're right… I'm sure…"

"You don't believe me," Rabastan said flatly. "You think she fucked him." The word sounded overly blunt on his tongue – he tended to prefer euphemism, but the situation seemed to call for the plainest, ugliest words. Besides, however much the idea of Bellatrix fucking the Dark Lord hurt, the idea of her _making love to him_ hurt all the more.

"Yeah, I do." Rodolphus pressed his lips into a thin line. "I mean- well, she's been going off a lot in the evenings… I had- I had guessed she was being unfaithful, and she- she always was talking about the Dark Lord, even before you and he…"

Rabastan sagged against his brother. Suddenly he felt exhausted, drained, helpless and hopeless.

"I've only seen the Dark Lord twice since I was married to Andromeda," he confided softly. "He'd have had plenty of time to- to do it, if he wanted to."

"I don't know why he'd want to." There was a very slight tremor in Rodolphus's voice, and he touched Rabastan's hair again. His hand shook. "What would he want with her when he could have you?"

"The same thing you want with her, I suppose," Rabastan said quietly, and the unspoken implication hung in the air between them – _you could have me too._

Rabastan expected Rodolphus to protest. He expected him to bring out the natural excuses: _you're my brother_ or_ she's my wife_ or_ I don't fancy men_. But he remained silent, his hand moving shakily and idly over Rabastan's head, and with every passing second that he didn't use those excuses, the part of Rabastan that continued to exist in vain but desperate hope that someday his brother would love him tried to frame the silence as hesitation.

"I don't know if I would, if I were him," Rodolphus whispered at last. He had fixed his eyes on a point somewhere over Rabastan's shoulder, and refused to look away from it to meet his brother's eyes. "If I were the Dark Lord, and I- and I could have either you or her… I don't know if I'd want her."

"What are you trying to say?" Rabastan asked, and quite by mistake, his tone became hushed, as if Rodolphus's feelings might be frightened away by too loud a voice.

Another long silence.

"I don't know."

"Rodolphus," Rabastan pressed, though he knew that it was risky, "remember what you and I did… in your bed?"

A hint of colour appeared in Rodolphus's ashen cheeks.

"Do I remember," he scoffed quietly. "Not a day goes by when I don't… think of it."

"What do you think?" In the guise of brotherly embrace, Rabastan let his hand settle lightly against the small of Rodolphus's back. Rodolphus closed his eyes, and the colour in his cheeks deepened.

"I think about how… it… how you…" Rodolphus pressed his lips together. "Nothing."

"No," Rabastan moved his hand down very slightly, almost imperceptibly. "Go on."

Rodolphus seemed to struggle for words, and at last he said, very quietly, "I don't feel… like that… with Bellatrix."

In the moment, that was near as satisfying as a declaration of love would have been and Rabastan had to fight hard to keep from smiling smugly. When he was quite sure he could speak without sounding too pleased, he asked, "How did you feel?"

Rabastan could feel his brother's heartbeat, a little too fast. He could see Rodolphus's lips twitching up and down while he struggled frantically for words. Then, at last, he whispered, "_Good_."

"Don't you feel good with Bellatrix?" Pressing his luck, he knew, but he needed to hear his brother say such things if he would. He had hoped for so long – selfishly and cruelly, but hoped nonetheless – that his brother's marriage was just a miserable sham, that even with its façade of Pureblood elegance, they really were as unsuited for each other as Rabastan thought.

Rodolphus didn't answer, but he looked guilty, and that was answer enough.

"I try to," he said, after a tense pause. "But I can't- unless I- unless…"

"Unless you what?"

Rodolphus laughed mirthlessly. "You know, Rab, it would be hard enough to say if you weren't rubbing yourself all over me."

"Do you think about me?"

Rodolphus went stiff, and Rabastan held his breath, because immediately the thought came to him that he was making a terrible, _terrible_ mistake. He had pushed too far, had relied too fully on his belief (_hope_) that Rodolphus felt the same way that he did. Maybe the kiss that they'd shared (_and the other things; it hadn't _just_ been a kiss, after all_) had really just been a mistake for Rodolphus, and everything else really was just brotherly affection…

"I can't help it. Rab, I can't _help_ thinking about you." Rodolphus's voice broke. "I _try!_"

"You…"

"I try not to think of you." Rodolphus began to babble, speaking in a hushed, urgent voice. "I try so hard, especially when I'm with Bellatrix; I've tried _everything_, I tried punishing myself when I thought about you or just n- not letting myself- but I can't _help_ it, Rab, and what- what does that say about me?" He dug his nails into Rabastan's shoulders. "What does it mean that I'm thinking about my own _brother_ this way?"

Rabastan wanted to say something. He was sure that in his mind, he already had a half-formed comment about how it was all right, how he understood (_oh_, how he understood), but barely had he opened his mouth to say it when Rodolphus's mouth came down hard against his.

It was a shock. That was Rabastan's first reaction. Not arousal or pleasure or relief, but shock. Shock that he was being kissed by his brother, yes, but shock moreover that he had not been the one who had to initiate it. Shock that it was Rodolphus who kissed him and not the other way around – and without him even properly asking or suggesting that he wanted it…

Oh, but he _did_ want it.

He put his arms around his brother's neck, and Rodolphus pushed him up against the wall, so hard that his head thumped audibly against the wood, and Rodolphus – usually so conscientious about anything that might hurt Rabastan, didn't even slow down. He scrabbled at him and Rabastan arched his back and ground against his hips. He could feel his brother's hardness, pressed against his own, and felt him shudder when he moved against him. When Rodolphus broke away at last, his face was quite red and his forehead slick with perspiration.

"Don't stop!" Rabastan cried, and Rodolphus clapped his hand over his mouth.

"I'm not stopping," he said, and he sounded gentle, though there was a ragged quality in his tone that Rabastan recognized, for it was very close to his own voice when he was aroused. "I just- we shouldn't do it here."

"Why not?" Rabastan clawed fiercely at his brother's shirt. He had had enough frustration, and if Rodolphus was willing now, then he'd have him _now._

"I don't want my first time with… a man…" Rodolphus's voice shook. "To be out- out in the open. I want a bed."

That surprised Rabastan. He hadn't thought of it as _Rodolphus's first time with a man_, nor had he ever considered that this – sex between two men – was something that he knew about that his brother didn't. Rodolphus was supposed to be the worldly one.

Rabastan didn't wholly dislike the feeling of knowing something his brother didn't.

"Well… come on, then," he said quietly, and took Rodolphus's arm. There was an especially illicit feeling in creeping into one of the bedrooms – avoiding the parlour, where Andromeda and Bellatrix still seemed to be – and when Rabastan shut the door behind his brother, leaving them in the darkness except for the late evening sun still on the horizon, he saw that Rodolphus had gone pale again.

He wracked his mind for something comforting to say, but all he could think of was, "Do you know what to do?"

Rodolphus looked a little sick, but he nodded. "I think so."

So Rabastan reached out and put his arms around his brother's waist, and while his heart beat practically in his mouth, he pulled him towards the bed. Rodolphus shivered a bit, and when he landed on the sheets and looked up at Rabastan, it was with pleading, helpless eyes.

"It's wrong," he said quietly, one last repetition of that statement, and there was nothing forceful about the way he said it. It was hollow, said more out of the last shreds of a false sense of duty than because it was believed.

"I know," Rabastan told him, and when he kissed him again, Rodolphus put his arms around him and kissed him back for all he was worth.


	38. Chapter 38

Rabastan slept that night curled against his brother as he had slept so many times in the past. It was a perverse reworking of the way they had slept for so long – he had his head on Rodolphus's shoulder and Rodolphus's arms around his waist, but they slept with the sheets knotted around them and no clothing between them. Before he dozed off, Rabastan could feel perspiration on his brother's skin, feel his quick heartbeat and heavy breathing long after they had finished. Neither of them dared say a word, but Rabastan nuzzled against Rodolphus's neck and shoulder, and Rodolphus hugged him closer and stroked his back, and Rabastan fell asleep with his leg nestled between Rodolphus's and his seed splattered on his stomach.

When Rabastan woke up, Rodolphus had moved away.

For a brief second when Rabastan first became aware that his brother was no longer entangled with him, he felt a sudden and intense fear that he had been abandoned, but Rodolphus was lying stiffly on his back on the other side of the bed.

"Rod?" he murmured, lifting himself up slightly and moving closer to his brother. "Rod?"

He turned to Rabastan, and there were tears streaking his pale face.

"Oh… Rabastan."

"What's wrong?" Rabastan reached out for him quickly, his heartbeat accelerating.

"Funny that you should only ask now," Rodolphus said coldly. He sat up, turning away from his brother. "If you had any sense, Rab, you'd have realized that something was wrong before we even got started."

"Did I hurt you?" It was the only thing Rabastan could think to say, recalling the pain he had experienced with the Dark Lord, the first time. But Rodolphus had not seemed in pain at the time – he had groaned and winced a little at first, but encouraged Rabastan to keep going, and hadn't _said_ that he had hurt him…

"No- no." Rodolphus's voice cracked and he wiped his eyes quickly. "No, you didn't."

"Well, then…"

Rodolphus let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. "Are you an idiot, Rabastan?" he demanded. "Or just sick? Has someone been putting ideas into your head about incest _not being wrong_?"

Rabastan's hands began to shake. "I'm not sick," he told him. "I'm not an idiot, and I'm not sick. You know that, Rod."

"Well, what am I supposed to think when you were _so_ eager to jump into bed with your own _brother_?"

"Pardon me," Rabastan said. His stomach was twisting terribly, cold sweat was breaking across his brow, and it was all he could do to keep words coming out of his mouth instead of stopping and breaking down completely, "but I wasn't the only eager one last night."

"For God's sake, Rab, don't try to pin this on me!"

"I'm not trying to pin it on you…" Rabastan reached out to wipe his brother's tears, but Rodolphus pushed his hand away. "I just don't think it's as wrong as you're saying it is," he added, a bit meekly.

Rodolphus looked at him with abject shock.

"Not _wrong_, Rabastan?" he repeated incredulously. "Are you out of your mind? We just- you just- we _fucked_, Rab." He said the word _fuck_ in a whisper, as if someone might hear the secret if he said it too loud. "We're brothers, and we _fucked_."

"I know that."

Rodolphus wiped away his tears and stared at Rabastan incredulously. "Well, you don't exactly seem _bothered_ by it!"

"I don't see why I should be," Rabastan said, and he tried not to sound too terribly petulant. "You wanted it, didn't you? And _I_ wanted it, so–"

"My god, Rabastan!" Rodolphus sounded hysterical. "How can you talk like that? I know you're not really stupid enough not to see what's wrong! My God, why did you let this happen?"

"Why did _I_ let this happen?" Rabastan's voice rose and he sat up as well. "And you said I was pinning it on you! I didn't _let_ anything happen! _You_ kissed _me_! You said _you_ thought about _me_! I don't see how _I_ _let_ anything happen!"

"You're the one who fancies men! You- you fancy _me!_" Rodolphus was on the verge of sounding hysterical now. "You kissed me before!"

"You never stopped me!"

"Only because you shocked me! And last night, I- I'd just found out that my wife was having an affair- and you- took _advantage!_"

Rabastan's throat tightened. He swallowed hard, trying not to let his lip wobble while his brother glared at him. It was all he could do to choke out, barely holding back tears, "Did- didn't you like it?"

Rodolphus seemed to deflate. He slumped against the headboard and put his hands over his face, and after a second, his shoulders began to shudder and heave.

"Whether I liked it- that isn't the point."

"If you did …"

"I like a lot of things that are wrong."

"So you did?"

Rodolphus gulped audibly. "A- a little."

Rabastan moved closer to him, almost holding his breath, and tentatively laid one hand on Rodolphus's leg. He twitched a little, but didn't move away, and Rabastan dared to move his hand up higher, until it was nearly resting on his brother's hip. Rodolphus shuddered.

"It doesn't mean I think it was right, what we did. I told you- I like a lot of things that are wrong."

"What?" Rabastan murmured, and when he stroked Rodolphus's leg very gently, Rodolphus didn't push him away.

"Like…" He laughed mirthlessly. "Like being pinned down to the bed and having Bellatrix on top of me. Like having her throw the Cruciatus curse on me. Or like- like going to bed with Mother."

"If you think all that's wrong, but you still do it, what makes this so different?" Rabastan edged closer to his brother, tentatively resting his chin on his shoulder.

"I don't know." Rodolphus's voice cracked. "I just- oh, _Rab_."

And the next thing Rabastan knew, his brother's powerful arms were wrapped tightly around his waist, and his mouth came down hard over his, and they were locked in the same tight embrace that they had shared in the very most impassioned moments last night. Rabastan dug his fingers into Rodolphus's back, enjoying the feeling of his powerful muscles beneath his hands, and Rodolphus groaned wordlessly against his mouth.

"Don't… ever… tell anyone," Rodolphus mumbled, knotting his fingers in Rabastan's hair and pulling his head back just enough so their lips parted and he could get the words out.

"I won't- I won't." Rabastan managed to push his brother over onto his back, and then he was in between his legs, and the blankets were knotted so tightly around them that they were all but crushed together, and Rabastan whimpered in pleasure at the feeling of Rodolphus's whole body rubbing and arching against his.

"Just- this once more." Rodolphus sounded a little desperate. "N- no more- not after this…"

Rabastan didn't answer. He certainly didn't want to promise that they'd never do this again, but he was afraid of saying so and making Rodolphus angry, so he just let out a non-committal little moan and continued kissing him. If Rodolphus wanted to believe that that little moan meant _of course, we'll never do this again_, then he could. And if – as Rabastan thought more likely, judging from the way Rodolphus was touching him, and _where_ he was touching him – Rodolphus wanted him to mean _no, we're going to do this again and again and again_, well, he could believe that too.

Rabastan took care to drag things out as long as he could, and when they had both finished, he clung to Rodolphus for a long time afterwards, but at last, Rodolphus sat up.

"I should go," he said quietly. "Bellatrix will wonder where I am."

"As if she matters, after what she did." Rabastan sat up as well, still breathing heavily. "Why do you care what she thinks?"

"I just do." Rodolphus was gathering his clothes, and he turned away from Rabastan to dress himself. "I don't know what I'm going to tell her…"

"Tell her it's not her business." Rabastan pulled on his own trousers a little more forcefully than necessary. "She's unfaithful. She doesn't deserve to know where you were."

"She's my _wife_."

"I _know_ that."

Rodolphus stood up and went to the door without giving Rabastan a backwards glance, and Rabastan followed him quickly, fresh frustration in his stomach. Rodolphus wrenched the door open and stepped out of the room, and Rabastan stepped out after him and almost bumped into him. Rodolphus had stopped dead in the doorway.

"What?" Rabastan asked, but then he peered around him and could see out into the corridor.

Bellatrix was leaning against the wall opposite them, Andromeda next to her, and both women were looking at Rodolphus and Rabastan. Andromeda's cheeks were pink and she looked slightly anxious, but Bellatrix just smirked.

"Well, now," she said smoothly, her eyes travelling from Rodolphus's face to Rabastan's, and then down to Rabastan's trousers, which weren't fastened quite right, and to Rodolphus's shirt, still un-tucked with not all the buttons done up. "I see that someone spent the night."


	39. Chapter 39

Rabastan shrank automatically against his brother. Given the circumstances, he later thought, that might not have been the wisest thing to do, for it did nothing to alleviate the impression that he and Rodolphus had, only moments before, been tangled in each others' arms. Rodolphus, perhaps a little more aware of the implications of his behaviour, pushed him away hastily.

"I see I'm not the only one," he snapped back. Colour was rising in his cheeks, and Bellatrix waved her hand vaguely through the air, waving away the implicit accusation in his words.

"No, you're not. I spent the night with Andromeda, as befits a young lady whose sister is in some emotional distress." Bellatrix touched Andromeda's arm, and Andromeda seemed to shudder very slightly. Her head was down. "Perfectly appropriate, I assure you."

"Don't bring me into this," Andromeda began quietly, but Bellatrix shot her a nasty glare, and she fell silent again. Bellatrix turned back to Rodolphus, and turned her lips down into a delicate, girlish pout.

"Now, let's not keep secrets from each other, darling," she said. "It seems only fair that you admit what you and your dear brother were doing, as you know about my affair with the Dark Lord–"

"Yes, _about that_," Rodolphus interrupted loudly. His hands balled into fists and he stepped forward, between Bellatrix and Rabastan. "_About_ your affair with the Dark Lord. I could care less that you're having an affair – don't flatter yourself to think that I care that much about _you_." He spat the words out and Bellatrix looked frankly shocked. "But how dare- how _dare_ you seduce my _brother's–_"

"Seduce!" Bellatrix threw her head back and laughed. "You think I had to _seduce_ him?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if you gave him a love potion!"

"You flatter me, love," Bellatrix smirked. "You think I'm so talented that I could give the Dark Lord a love potion? No… you're just going to have to accept that he wanted me. Just like you did, once." She turned to Rabastan and deepened her pout. "Poor thing. It just kills you to think that he might want a woman, doesn't it?"

"Shut up," was all Rabastan could think of to say.

"So you ran into your big brother's arms – and being such a _good_ big brother, of _course_ he'd do anything to comfort you, even jump into your bed. I'm sure he was in a perfect rush to _comfort_ you like that, wasn't he? And _entirely_ in the line of duty for a brave, noble older brother."

Rodolphus's blush was slowly darkening in colour. "Rabastan and I haven't done anything."

"Oh, I'm sure you haven't." Bellatrix stepped forward and ran one finger slowly along the undone buttons of his shirt. "Of _course_, there's no reason to think anything was happening – just because you were sleeping – undressed – in a bed with your brother, who we all know fancies men…"

"It- was perfectly- innocent!" Rodolphus sputtered. Rabastan wanted to tell his brother to shut up, and that he didn't sound the least bit convincing, but he couldn't quite make the words come out.

"Of course it wasn't. I see how it is." Bellatrix's voice softened and her eyes narrowed. "I _did_ think it was funny, Rod, how, ever since your brother told us how he fancies men…" She broke off to snicker, and Rabastan glanced at his brother, whose face had gone from quite red to very white.

"Pardon me," she said, her lips twisting into a grotesque smile. "I'm sure you'll be interested, Rab – I did think it was funny how, since you told us, your brother has developed a taste for having me from behind – having me, ah… in the manner which he would have a man. You understand, Rabastan."

Rabastan did understand. His stomach twisted with embarrassment and suppressed arousal as, unbidden, his mind was filled with the image of his brother bending Bellatrix over and taking her like _that_- the way Rabastan had fantasized about his brother taking _him…_

"I _never_ thought about my brother," Rodolphus snarled. "Plenty of men enjoy that sort of thing with women!"

"Never thought about him? Oh, what a disappointment for him." Rabastan jumped when Bellatrix's hand shot down to his groin and closed around him. "Poor thing's gotten all worked up, thinking about you having fantasies about him while you fuck me…"

"Don't _touch him!_" Rodolphus pushed Bellatrix back so hard that she stumbled, and Andromeda – still silent – just managed to grab her and stop her from falling. She looked up at Rodolphus, and she was positively seething, but her voice was cool nonetheless.

"I can see how you're trying to be a good brother," she said quietly. "As if that's somehow going to change what you did."

"We didn't do anything- _I_ didn't do anything."

"Don't treat me like an idiot, Rod." She straightened and drew herself up to her full height. She was easily as tall as Rodolphus, and Rabastan found himself feeling very small indeed. "Why don't you just come out and say it – there's no point in lying to me; I can see. You _fucked _him. And you _liked_ it, didn't you? You liked having your baby brother begging for you – or did you beg for him?"

Rodolphus slapped Bellatrix.

The sound echoed around the corridor, and the force of it did send her to the ground this time. Rabastan jumped and Andromeda pressed both hands over her mouth and let out a little squeak, but Bellatrix didn't even seem fazed. She just lifted her head and looked up at her husband with a bored, proud expression on her face.

"Fine," she said. Her voice didn't even shake. "Fine. Hit me if that makes you feel better. It doesn't change anything. I still know the truth about both of you, and a few slaps isn't going to change the fact that it _is_ the truth."

"Get out," Rodolphus said. His voice _was_ shaking, and terribly.

"This isn't your house. Don't tell me to get out."

"Get _out_." Rabastan spoke up to echo his brother, and Bellatrix seemed to find his command more meaningful. She stood, brushing off her skirt, and cast one more disparaging look at Rodolphus.

"I'll go home, then," she said, and her tone could have frozen water. She turned and strode out, head held high, and only when she was gone did Andromeda speak up, and she spoke to Rodolphus.

"You get out."

Her voice was quiet and not shrill in the slightest, but there was a teary edge to it. Rabastan and Rodolphus both looked at her, and she was glaring straight at Rodolphus.

"What?"

"I said, get out. Please leave my house right now."

Now that Bellatrix had gone, Rodolphus seemed to have deflated. He no longer seemed sure of what to do, and he glanced between Rabastan and Andromeda with an odd and helpless look that Rabastan would only have associated with small, confused children.

"Why?" Rabastan asked, a little timidly, and Andromeda turned her eyes to him. Her expression was stony.

"You ordered my sister out. Now I'm ordering your brother out. I don't know why I thought this was a good idea." She let out a strained false laugh. "Family gatherings have never suited us Blacks. Now… _get… out._"

Rodolphus looked at Rabastan, who didn't know what to say, and then he turned without another word and followed Bellatrix, though his head was bowed and his shoulders hunched over. Rabastan watched him go and waited until the door was shut before he looked to Andromeda. She was watching him accusingly, but unlike with Bellatrix's brand of accusation, she seemed more disappointed than angry. Two fat tears had spilled down her cheeks.

"What?" he asked, and to his own ears, he sounded weary and petulant.

Andromeda didn't respond right away. She looked at him and swallowed slowly, and another tear broke free of her lashes. When at last she did speak, her voice was gentle, quiet, hurt.

"You might have told me."

"Told you what?"

"About your brother."

"There's nothing to tell." Rabastan turned away from her so he wouldn't have to look into her soft, accusing eyes.

"Don't lie. It was obvious what you were doing in there. We could hear, you know."

Rabastan didn't say anything, but he did wish desperately to drop dead on the spot so he wouldn't have to think about Bellatrix and Andromeda standing outside the door and hearing the noises that he and his brother had made.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I told you," he said, rather more sharply this time, "there's nothing–"

"You thought I wouldn't understand."

Rabastan closed his mouth abruptly and pressed his lips tightly together. Andromeda seemed to take his silence for assent.

"Well," she said quietly. "That was pretty bloody stupid of you."

He kept his head down and didn't say anything. There was a quiet moment, then he heard Andromeda's footsteps retreating.

Only when they had faded out of earshot entirely did he mutter to himself, "Yes. It was."


	40. Chapter 40

When Sunday came around, and Rabastan was expected to go see the Dark Lord again, he balked at the thought. He had done all he could to convince himself that Bellatrix had been lying when she said she had gone to bed with the Dark Lord, but a seed of doubt remained. And if the things she said were true – had the Dark Lord really taken her in his bed? He had always had Rabastan on the sofa, had never even let him _see_ his bedroom. Perhaps that was a petty matter of concern, but it was a matter of concern nonetheless.

He balked before going to the Dark Lord's flat. He didn't want to see him in such a public setting, where Cygnus Black and Abraxas Malfoy and other men who Rabastan didn't even know would watch them. He wanted a private moment where he could ask if there was any truth to what Bellatrix had said.

But he supposed he simply wasn't going to get that.

He didn't tell Andromeda where he was going. She could work it out for herself.

What was the use in trying to be a good husband to her in any case?

He should have told her about Rodolphus. Why hadn't he? She had told _him_ about herself and Bellatrix – not only said that they had gone to bed together, but said that she had _feelings_ for her sister – and Rabastan had kept quiet, as if he didn't have the very same vices as her. He could have told her the truth, and it could have been something more that they shared – one of a seemingly ever-increasing number of things they had in common – and then _perhaps_ she wouldn't have been so hurt, for she seemed more hurt by his dishonesty than with his infidelity. Why hadn't he just told her the truth, _why_?

_Idiot_.

Rabastan berated himself over the matter while he prepared himself for the meeting. The Dark Mark on his arm was still raw and red, and scabbed over in a few places, but its crudeness didn't bother him. He loved glancing down and seeing his Master's emblem burned onto his skin, and loved the distinct feeling of being a part of something, being wanted and, moreover, needed. He kept the sleeve of his shirt rolled back to show the Mark off.

Rabastan was relieved to find, when he arrived in the Dark Lord's swiftly-becoming-familiar neighbourhood and climbed the stairs to his flat, that he was the first of the Death Eaters to arrive. The Dark Lord greeted him calmly when he opened the door.

"Rabastan. Once a week really is too infrequent…"

"My Lord…" A pleasurable shiver went through Rabastan's body when he closed the door, the two of them alone in the flat. "I- I've missed you, my Lord." He found his concern about Bellatrix slowly draining away, and when the Dark Lord put his arms around him and whispered in his ear, "Something's troubling you," he couldn't think of anything to say. Fortunately, before the silence could draw out for too long, there was a knock on the door and the Dark Lord broke away from him, leaving him shivering with suppressed want and with relief that he wouldn't have to say _just yet_ what was troubling him.

Rabastan perched on the sofa while other men filtered in. He smiled uneasily at those who looked at him, and ducked his head and squirmed when they intentionally avoided his eyes. Was this how they treated all newcomers, or was it something particular to him? Did the Death Eaters suspect his relationship with their Master? Or did he simply exude some hateful quality?

There seemed no order to who came in when – they arrived in little groups or streams, oftentimes with long pauses between the arrival of more – and from his occasional glances at the clock, it did not seem to him that there was any particular time that they were expected to arrive. But the Dark Lord must have had some time in mind, because at thirty-six minutes past nine o'clock, he closed the door with finality, assumed a seat at the table, and the room fell silent.

"I trust you have all spent the week with our work in mind," he said, and though his words were inconsequential, he spoke with such command that Rabastan felt as if he might have just had the wisdom of the ages imparted to him. A general murmur of what could only be assent went through the room.

"And I trust that you have not forgotten the newest addition to our company?" He indicated Rabastan, who felt his cheeks heat, but who kept his head up this time. The Dark Lord seemed to think that he was worthy of this attention, so who was he to deny it? Another murmur of assent.

"Good. Then I propose a night of merriment." The corners of the Dark Lord's mouth twitched up slightly, and Rabastan thought he had suddenly taken on a slightly sinister look. "For our cause, of course."

Rabastan tried to catch the Dark Lord's eye, wondering what sort of merriment supported the cause of the Death Eaters. He wasn't _terribly_ familiar with the complex intricacies of the Death Eaters' political methods, but he didn't recall hearing from anyone who talked about them mention what sort of things they did to enjoy themselves. But everyone in the room was nodding with some enthusiasm.

"Excellent." The Dark Lord's was no longer only _slightly_ sinister. "You all know what to do, then."

The other men were on their feet in an instant, all rushing towards the door. Rabastan rose as well, uncertainly, and the Dark Lord caught his eye and tilted his head slightly, indicating for him to hang back.

"What are they doing?" he asked, when they were alone.

"Oh…" The Dark Lord waved a hand lazily. "They take great pleasure in going out to cause mayhem. The torture of Muggles is the most usual pastime. I encourage it as a way for the undisciplined to release energy, and for the disciplined to practice. Come – you'll enjoy it, I'm sure."

Rabastan followed, a knot of unease in his stomach.

The Dark Lord spoke so casually of torture, as if it was something that everyone did, and on a regular basis. But more than the Dark Lord's nonchalance, Rabastan found himself uneasy because he was already imagining how _he_ might torture someone, and the idea did not fully repulse him.

Perhaps, he tried to tell himself, it didn't repulse him because he himself was so profoundly used to pain that it didn't seem _too_ terrible to inflict it on someone else. Yes, that was it; he had been hardened by years of sickness and injury. He was not a sadistic person. Of course he wasn't. Anyone could see that he was too delicate to be sadistic.

The Dark Lord led him out of the building, and he could already hear faint noises of commotion. A muffled cry, the sound of rubbish bins being knocked over, and, from a distance, raucous laughter. He should have been disgusted. He wasn't.

"Have you ever used the Cruciatus curse before?" the Dark Lord asked mildly, strolling down a darkened alley without a second's hesitation. Rabastan hurried to keep up with him.

"No, my Lord, I haven't."

"Ah…" He turned, and the faint light of a distant streetlamp threw his face into relief. He looked more intimidating like this than he ever had indoors. "Good. Then I will be able to… instruct you."

Rabastan swallowed his nerves.

The Dark Lord drew his wand, and Rabastan cringed, suddenly wondering in a panic whether he would be on the receiving end of the curse, but the Dark Lord only twirled it lightly between his fingers and glanced up the alley.

"Take your wand out." And when Rabastan didn't immediately move, he added, in a soft, gentle, _terribly_ tempting voice, "Are you afraid?" And before Rabastan could even answer, he rested his hand on his chest, and whispered, "Don't be. I'm here to help you."

Rabastan felt _safe_.

There was nothing he should have felt _less_ when he was standing in a dark, unfamiliar alley with a lover who might not be faithful and who wanted him to torture for next to no reason. And yet, safe was what he felt. No one else, save Rodolphus, had ever said something like _don't be afraid; I'm here to help you_ to Rabastan. And the Dark Lord exuded such power, such quiet confidence in his own abilities, that Rabastan could not fathom _not_ feeling safe so long as he had the Dark Lord's goodwill.

He drew his wand in a hand that shook only slightly, and the Dark Lord pulled him back into the shadows and put his arms around his waist in the guise of helping him assume a strong position. He took Rabastan's wrist in his hand and put his other arm around his waist, and Rabastan couldn't help sinking back into his arms, his breath coming in shallow pants.

"Pay attention," the Dark Lord commanded quietly. Rabastan could see a figure towards the end of the alley now, a man, walking quickly towards them, surely in a hurry to get home before darkness fell completely.

"Stun him," he whispered in Rabastan's ear, and the spell came easily to his lips.

"_Stupefy_."

The man was on the ground before he had the chance to register that someone had spoken, and the Dark Lord's voice seemed slightly excited when he whispered, "Now do it, Rabastan. You know the curse. You _know_…"

He aimed his wand, and the Dark Lord's hand dipped down to touch him through his trousers.

"_Do it_."

"_Crucio._"

The man, who had only just begun to move after being Stunned, twisted horribly on the ground. He brought his knees up to his chest and writhed away from Rabastan and the Dark Lord as if on instinct, but he didn't scream.

"Again!" Rabastan was aware of a certain sudden intensity around the Dark Lord that he was not familiar with. The Dark Lord was always composed, in his way, even when he was in such intimate and undignified circumstances as being half-undressed on the sofa, never mind when he was in a public place like this.

"_Crucio_!" Rabastan repeated, but the word came out as a moan. The Dark Lord's hand was working hard on him and it was becoming increasingly difficult to concentrate. The Muggle barely winced and Rabastan felt a little flush of shame.

"Rab…" The Dark Lord's voice was husky and heavy. "You can do better than that. Rab, if you can make him scream…" He squeezed him a little, and Rabastan groaned.

"My Lord, I can't…"

"Yes, you can." His breath was hot on his cheek. "Make him scream, Rab, and I'll make _you_ scream."

And so Rabastan took in a deep breath, held his wand straight at the Muggle on the ground – who was twitching and squirming and trying to get away and _failing_ – and channelled every ounce of energy and frustration he had into one final repetition of the incantation.

"_Crucio!_"

The Muggle did scream, and the sound was satisfying in a way that Rabastan had not expected – a declaration of his own power over another. He felt a rush of heat and pleasure run through him, and when the Dark Lord's hand tightened over his groin, his fingers came away wet.

Rabastan slumped back into his Master's arms. He would have been glad to go back to the flat then, but the Dark Lord pushed him upright and whispered, "Finish him."

"What?"

"Kill him, Rabastan." The Dark Lord's voice wasn't soft or rough or urgent anymore. It was calm and decisive.

"W- why?"

"Because he will be a threat otherwise." He spoke with a tone of practicality that Rabastan thought a little strange under the circumstances. "He's a Muggle, Rabastan, and you know what Muggles do to Wizards. You know how he could kill you if he wanted to. Do you want to take that risk? Do you want to put _me_ at risk?"

Rabastan swallowed. "N- no."

"Then kill him. No reason to hesitate. He's only a Muggle. And the spell's not as hard as the Cruciatus Curse."

Rabastan didn't want to do it. He _didn't_. He had not balked much at torture. But _murder_. That was a different matter.

But different matter or not, he raised his wand as though in a trance and aimed it at the Muggle.

"_Avada Kedavra_."

Watched him go limp, watched the light leave his eyes.

Watched the Dark Lord wave _his_ wand and turn the corpse into a pile of dust.

Watched the dust scatter on the wind.

He should have felt guilty. The man was a Muggle, yes, but he must have had family, or friends, or _someone_ who would care that he was gone.

But Rabastan _didn't_ feel guilty.

He only felt a little bit numb.


	41. Chapter 41

"You've been very quiet," the Dark Lord commented later that night, when they lay on the sofa together. Rabastan was newly and acutely aware that the issue of where they made love hadn't even been brought up. He hadn't thought about it before Bellatrix had said it, but there _did_ seem to be something faintly degrading and less than intimate about the Dark Lord having him there rather than in a bed. He had assumed that it was a matter of the need for privacy, but if he'd had Bellatrix there, maybe he simply didn't think much of Rabastan. Maybe he didn't think he was good enough

"I killed a man tonight," Rabastan said, as if that was even _vaguely_ connected to why he was quiet. He had felt nothing when he had killed, and that distressed him more than the act ever could have, but much as he thought he should be concerned with that, all he could think about was whether his lover had been unfaithful. Perhaps he was a little bit mad, because that seemed the only explanation for being more concerned with fidelity than with murder…

"But that isn't why you're quiet. You've been brooding all night." He swept a finger across Rabastan's forehead to brush his hair away, an intimate gesture. "Even before you killed."

Rabastan looked down, his stomach churning. Now was the time to tell him. Now was the time to bring it up and ask the Dark Lord how much of what Bellatrix had said was true.

"My Lord," he began, his voice shaking. "It's- it's about- Bellatrix. Bellatrix Black. Or- Bellatrix Lestrange, now." It sickened him to have to call her by _his_ name, his _brother's_ name. She didn't deserve it.

"Oh? What about her?" He sounded mildly curious, perhaps a little confused, but not at all guilty.

"Do you know her?"

"I've met her."

"Has she ever been- here? Here, to your flat?"

"Why, yes, she has." There was a mild note of surprise in the Dark Lord's voice, as if he couldn't imagine why Rabastan would ask such a thing. "It is rare to see a woman so interested in the cause…"

"My Lord." Rabastan's voice cracked. "She says- she says that you took her to bed."

"_Oh…_" He drew Rabastan close against his chest and brushed a kiss against his cheek. "Oh, dear, is that what she told you? Rabastan, how could you think such a thing of me?"

"The things she _said_, my Lord…" To Rabastan's chagrin, he felt tears stinging his eyes. "I- I didn't mean to doubt you, but- but she was just so- I just couldn't help being a _little_ worried…"

"What would I want with a woman like her when I can have you?" he asked, and Rabastan was strongly reminded of Rodolphus, and of how he had said almost the very same thing. "Why would I ever be unfaithful to you?" His hand moved to Rabastan's hip, his fingertips tracing the prominent bone. "How could you think that of me?"

"It wasn't _you_, my Lord." Rabastan dashed his tears away. "It's _her_. She's–" He broke off, biting down on his lips.

"She's what?"

Rabastan didn't _want_ to say it, but the words tumbled from his mouth before he could stop them. "She's a whore. I wouldn't doubt that she'd try to seduce you."

"You think I'm easily seduced?"

"No! No, not at- not at all," Rabastan stammered, going red. "I didn't mean that, I only meant- my Lord, you know that she's married to my brother…"

"Yes, I do know that."

"Well." Gossip was not Rabastan's forte, but there were _so_ many things he knew about Bellatrix that it was almost a relief to tell them, even if he told them with malicious intent. "She went to bed with her sister when they were young – her sister is my wife," he added, then winced a little hearing himself say the words _my wife_. The Dark Lord must not have wanted to hear about Rabastan's wife. "And then- then, then, a time ago, she…"

"She?" the Dark Lord prompted quietly. His hand had stilled on Rabastan's waist, and his fingers were pressing tightly into his skin, as if he was trying to hold back an urge to snap.

"She tried to seduce _me_, my Lord." Rabastan felt perspiration collecting on his brow, and he couldn't bring himself to make eye contact. "She- she put her hands on me and made me touch her. She said she was going to teach me, and- she tried- tried to force me to…"

The Dark Lord went stiff against him. "_Tried to force you?_"

"Not- she didn't- she didn't even get me undressed," Rabastan stammered. The tone of the Dark Lord's voice made it terribly clear what he thought had happened, and Rabastan hated it.

"It wasn't _rape_," he said quietly. He could barely lift his voice above a whisper for the irrational fear that they might be overheard. "It was just- she was just _trying_. It was pathetic, really. But- but you can see what I mean, don't you? She _is_ a whore, she _is!_"

"Oh, I never doubted that, Rabastan." Perhaps it was Rabastan's imagination, but his voice seemed a little sharper and harder than before. "I've told you that I would never go to bed with her – but you don't believe me, I see."

"I- I do!" Rabastan stammered, surprised by the sudden change of tone. "I _do_ believe you, my Lord – I only…"

"You only _what_?"

"I only wondered if she tried," he said meekly. "I'm sorry- I never meant to imply that I- that I thought you would be unfaithful to me…"

"It sounded very much like that was what you were implying when you said things like…" He put on an impression of Rabastan, and pouted childishly, "_I just couldn't help being a little worried_."

Rabastan turned away, mortified. "I'm sorry, my Lord."

There was a long silence, and then the Dark Lord said, "You will need to trust me if you are to be a Death Eater." He reached down and touched Rabastan's arm where the Dark Mark was still freshly burned. "How can you call me your Master when you are so suspicious of me? You _must_ trust me, Rabastan."

"I'm _sorry_." He knew that he sounded petulant. "I didn't mean to offend."

There was silence again. Rabastan moved away from the Dark Lord slightly and stared up at the cracked plaster of the ceiling, and while he _tried_ to trust in the Dark Lord and tell himself that it was all a contrivance by Bellatrix to make him miserable, he just couldn't _quite_ put the thought out of his mind.

"What do I need to do to convince you?" the Dark Lord asked at last. "What would make you believe that I wouldn't go to bed with her?"

"I do believe you," he lied flatly.

"No, you don't…" He put his hand on Rabastan's cheek and turned his head so that he was looking him straight in the eyes. "You think I'm lying. _Rabastan_… tell me honestly – what do you think I could see in her?"

"I don't know." Rabastan thought he was going to choke with the effort of stopping himself from dissolving into tears. "But there must be something about her- my brother wants her, after all."

"Perhaps your brother's taste leaves something to be desired."

Rabastan bristled automatically, and then found himself unsure whether he was offended because his brother had been insulted, or because his brother had a taste for _him_ – but the latter was absurd, of course; the Dark Lord didn't know what he and Rodolphus had done. He had no idea that by insulting Rodolphus's taste in partners, he was indirectly insulting Rabastan.

"Perhaps."

"I don't know what more you expect me to tell you…" He ran his fingers through Rabastan's hair, and it was much _too_ intimate. "I have no interest in Bellatrix, nor in any woman like her – nor in any woman, Rabastan, or any man… any more than you have any interest in anyone else."

And suddenly, Rabastan felt sick. His stomach had already been twisting with nerves and suspicion and a dozen other unpleasant emotions, but now he felt as if he might vomit.

"P- pardon?" he said, and though he tried desperately hard to sound casual, his voice was shaking terribly. "What- what did you say?"

"I said that I don't have any interest in anyone but you, any more than you have an interest in anyone but me." He sounded _too_ innocent – but that might have been Rabastan's imagination, he couldn't tell anymore what was real and what was paranoia. "I wouldn't be unfaithful to you, any more than you would be unfaithful to me. And…" Suddenly, his voice dropped into a deadly quiet whisper, "you would _never_ be unfaithful to me, would you, Rabastan?"

_He knows._

_He can't know._

"I- I…" was all Rabastan could stammer, and he searched the Dark Lord's face desperately for some indication of exactly how much he knew.

"Would you, Rabastan?"

"N- no… my Lord…"

"Good." Rabastan couldn't tell whether he sounded satisfied because he felt the argument was now over, or because he knew how badly he had shaken Rabastan. "Then we shall say no more about it, shall we? We shall simply have to trust each other."

"Yes- yes, my Lord." Rabastan sat up, shaking and covered in cold sweat. "I- I really- I should go…"

"Yes, I daresay you should." He sat up as well, watching as Rabastan hurriedly dressed, and when he was almost out the door, he called after him, "And do say hello to your brother for me, won't you?"

Rabastan didn't say anything, and he left his flat with the feeling that he had just received a terrible blow to the chest.


	42. Chapter 42

_He knows._

Rabastan struggled down the stairs, feeling as if he might retch at any moment, and stumbled onto the street outside the building. He leaned against the wall and rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes, watching stars pop and feeling the cool night breeze brush against his skin, and he tried to make sense of what had just happened.

_The Dark Lord knows._

Rabastan had hidden how he felt about Rodolphus for so long – even from Andromeda, the one person who he _should_ have told – and now the Dark Lord _knew_. And it was _more_ than that. If he had only known that Rabastan had feelings for Rodolphus, Rabastan might have been able to construe it as a signal of their intensifying intimacy, and he might even have told him willingly. And if the Dark Lord had known that Rabastan had gone to bed with his brother, Rabastan would have asked for forgiveness and prayed it would be granted.

But that the Dark Lord wasn't just expressing that he _knew_ Rabastan's secret, no – he was _blackmailing_ him. He was – albeit in a roundabout way – telling Rabastan to keep his mouth shut about whatever he suspected the Dark Lord and Bellatrix were doing, because _he knew about Rodolphus_.

Rabastan felt sick, and slightly disoriented, as if the whole world had shifted very slightly around him. This wasn't how things were supposed to be. The Dark Lord cared about him in ways that no one except Rodolphus ever had, and even Rodolphus was prone to treating Rabastan like a child. The Dark Lord knew better than that. He knew how being patronized insulted Rabastan, and so he had always treated him as something _close_ to an equal, at least, and maybe Rabastan had been stupid, but he had believed that he mattered to the Dark Lord and perhaps even that he was _loved_…

He dropped his hands and stared across the street. It was pitch-black except for the faint glow of the few streetlamps that didn't have broken bulbs. A scrawny cat was slinking along the edge of the street, occasionally stopping and pawing bits of rubbish in the gravel. It was making awful rustling noises, and every few moments, it let out a wretched, pitiful little meow.

There was a sudden rushing in Rabastan's ears. His vision clouded and darkened at the edges, spots spinning before his eyes the way they did just before he passed out, but he didn't feel the familiar sick, swooping feeling in his lower stomach. What he did feel was his own hand darting inside his robes of its own accord, his fingers wrapping around the familiar handle of his wand, and his lips parting and forcing words out. He couldn't hear what he was saying over the sound of his own blood, but he knew what he must have said when a flash of green light brightened the street and the cat crumpled on the ground.

Rabastan lowered his wand, breathing heavily.

Killing an animal felt no different to him than killing that Muggle had. It felt like _nothing_. He didn't feel even the slightest shred of remorse, only pleasure that the annoyance was now gone. In fact, everything seemed pleasantly quiet now, and Rabastan stood silently, looking at the faint outline of the cat's corpse, and he thought.

He should have expected for the Dark Lord to find out, he reasoned. He knew that his Master was accomplished in Legilimency. And besides that, Rabastan – as a Death Eater – had pledged his mind, body and soul to his Master. Taking the Dark Mark didn't mean pledging _most_ of his mind, or pledging his mind but only with permission – it meant that the Dark Lord had – and should have – access to his thoughts.

And what was this sudden mistrust that had bubbled up between them? Rabastan was disgusted with himself. First he had accused him of infidelity – with nothing more than Bellatrix's word to go on, and Rabastan would ordinarily have less than no respect for anything Bellatrix said – and then he had assumed that he would blackmail him with information pertaining to him and his brother. The Dark Lord had never implied that he meant to tell anyone, or do anything with the information; he had merely indicated that he knew that Rabastan was the one who had been unfaithful. Was that so very wrong of him to do? Rabastan _had_ been unfaithful, and perhaps he should have paid, instead of immediately accusing his lover of the same. Perhaps Rabastan had only been so quick to assume that the Dark Lord was unfaithful because he himself was, and he felt guilty, and _wanted_ to feel like he was not the only one committing a crime. Yes, that must have been it; that was why he had listened to Bellatrix when she was obviously spouting off blatant lies.

The next time he and the Dark Lord were alone, Rabastan promised himself, he would straighten the whole matter out. He would beg the Dark Lord to forgive him, and explain that his lust for Rodolphus had been the passing fancy of an adolescent boy, and now that he had acted upon it, he no longer felt the lust (which was a lie, but Rabastan would consider that complication later). And the Dark Lord – to whom he _did_ matter, even if he was not loved – would surely accept the assurance when he saw that Rabastan was sincere. All would be made right again.

Rabastan found a small smile creeping onto his face, and he relaxed a bit. This had all been a terrible mistake, a series of misunderstandings and incorrect reactions. His Master _did_ care about him, and he most likely wouldn't dream of ever telling anyone about what Rabastan had done with his brother. Rabastan had simply jumped to the conclusion that he was being blackmailed with no reason to believe it. This was the sort of thing that Bellatrix would want – a wedge to be driven in between him and his Master because he, Rabastan, made baseless assumptions. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction.

He considered going back upstairs immediately, but thought better of it – if he went back now, the Dark Lord would think that he was desperate, and though, in a way, he was, he didn't want to project that air. He didn't want to show quite how deeply it had disturbed him to think of his secret being revealed, but he also didn't want to leave it too long and seem as if he was brooding.

He would go to see the Dark Lord tomorrow, he decided. He would show up casually and apologize, and he would be contrite and make it clear that it was all his fault, and then they could put the matter behind them at last, and what a relief that would be.

But he would do it tomorrow.

Yes, tomorrow. Suddenly, Rabastan felt exhausted. He felt as if his legs couldn't support him a moment longer, and all he wanted to do was climb into bed, even if it was a cold, empty bed, or worse, a bed next to Andromeda, who turned away and projected an aura of hatred when he was close to her. He wanted to lay down and sleep, and nothing more.

Rabastan practically had to drag himself away from the wall upon which he was leaning, and never in his life had he been more grateful that Apparition had come easily to him and he had no difficulty in going from the Dark Lord's street to the doors of his own manor in the blink of an eye.

The manor was dark, with not a single lamp or candle burning. The night was cloudy, so not even the stars or moon were able to lend some light to the darkened corridors. Rabastan lit his wand and paused at the foot of the stairs, pondering briefly whether it would be best to go to Andromeda, or to sleep in another bedroom.

He almost turned away from the stairwell, but something stopped him. Andromeda was in _his_ bed. He had every bit as much right to it as she did – more, in fact. He had been wrong to keep secrets (this particular secret, at any rate) from her, but she did not have the authority to ban him from their bedroom because he chose not to share something with her. Why shouldn't he go to his own bedroom?

Newly emboldened, Rabastan strode up the stairs and took a delibate path towards his bedroom, which he had shied away from for as long as he had lived here with Andromeda. So bold was he, so determined, that he did not hear sounds from it until he had opened the door.

Rabastan's immediate thought when the door did open, and his wand cast light upon the bed, was only that he had caught Andromeda in an intimate moment. Surely she, like him, had desires and urges frustrated by circumstance that she released when she was alone in bed. From the position of the body he saw, he thought she must be riding something – perhaps a pillow, as he had once been told in a conspiratorial whisper that some girls did as a means of self-pleasure. Rabastan was about to cough to announce his presence.

But something wasn't quite right. The body on the bed was too slim – not at all like Andromeda's soft, solid body that grew ever thicker at the waist with pregnancy, and though the head was bent, Rabastan thought her hair looked too pale and too flat to be Andromeda's brown waves.

He raised his wand a little higher and stepped forward. A floorboard creaked beneath his shoe and only then did the girl on the bed whip around.

Pale, bone-thin, and naked but for lank, pale hair that hung down across her chest, Narcissa Black stared at Rabastan like a small animal facing a predator.


	43. Chapter 43

"Cissy?" Andromeda's voice was soft and hazy. "What's the matter?"

Narcissa was gaping at Rabastan with a dreadful expression of mixed fear and shock, and Rabastan stared back. His own mouth must have been open from blank surprise.

_What was_ she_ doing here?_

Of the three Black sisters, Narcissa was by far the one most distant from Rabastan. She was quiet and often gloomy, and Rabastan had only ever seen her display any modicum of _joie de vivre_ when she was with Andromeda. Narcissa and Bellatrix didn't even seem to be terribly close – their behaviour towards each other at gatherings had always seemed to Rabastan to be laced with a sort of wariness. Narcissa didn't even seem to fit properly into her own family. She didn't share their looks – her hair was fair, fairer than Druella's, but thin and lifeless, unlike the thick, dark curls that the Blacks all seemed to share, and she was bone-thin and had looked breakable to Rabastan, like a particularly dour china doll. She certainly didn't have the exuberance that everyone in her family seemed to share in some manner or another: she was neither aggressive like Bellatrix, nor passionate like Andromeda, nor a socialite like Druella. She was more like a Malfoy – pretty and cold. The last time he had seen her had been at the party in the past winter, and during that, she had at least been smiling – the last time before that had been at the Christmas party the previous year, and Narcissa had spent that time staring listlessly about from behind her shawl, which she had never removed from around her head. Lucius Malfoy had expressed mild interest in her in the past, but Rabastan had never seen what he saw in her.

"Cissy?"

Andromeda sat up. She was underneath Narcissa and had been hidden among the blankets and pillows when Rabastan came in, but now he could see how clearly Narcissa was straddling her.

Andromeda's eyes widened as well when she saw Rabastan, but instead of freezing the way Narcissa had, she grabbed at the blanket and pulled it quickly over herself and her sister, much to Rabastan's relief.

"You- you were- supposed to be with the Dark Lord," she stammered. "I didn't expect you home until the morning!"

Rabastan couldn't speak. He worked his mouth for several moments, opening and closing it helplessly, until he finally managed to force out one word.

"_Narcissa?_"

"I'm so sorry," Narcissa whispered. Her expression hadn't changed, except perhaps for her look of fear to intensify. "I'm so sorry, sir, but my sister said you didn't want her – she said that it was all right…"

_Sir_.

No one had ever called Rabastan _sir_ before. That caught him off-guard almost as much as seeing Narcissa in Andromeda's bed had.

"He doesn't want me." Andromeda's eyes turned to slits and her bottom lip jutted out defiantly. "He fancies men. He fancies…" She paused briefly, and Rabastan felt like the bottom had just dropped out of his stomach. She could already hear her saying it. _He fancies his brother_.

"He fancies the Dark Lord," she finished. "He doesn't care who I go to bed with."

Narcissa blinked, and a tear slid down her cheek. "I don't believe you," she said quietly. "He's going to tell someone, he won't keep it a secret – he won't!"

"Yes, he will." Andromeda looked Rabastan dead in the eye. "Won't you?"

Rabastan didn't even have the sense to nod. He found himself staring dumbly at their bodies beneath the sheets, where Andromeda's legs were still twisted around Narcissa's.

_Andromeda had never said anything about Narcissa_. She had never said she loved her the way she had said she loved Bellatrix. She hardly spoke about her younger sister at all. The only time Rabastan could think of her even mentioning her was when she had said that she had gone a bit mad from what her father had done to her, which didn't seem at all like a confession of romantic feelings. And while Rabastan could at least understand what might bring someone to be attracted to Bellatrix, he couldn't see what Andromeda would want from her any more than he could see what Lucius would.

"_Won't you_?"

"I won't," he said hastily, but Narcissa seemed no more convinced. A tear rolled down her pale cheek, glinting in the light of Rabastan's wand.

"Can I please talk to you alone?" she asked shakily, and Rabastan nodded. She rose and reached for a dress where it had been thrown on the floor, and he averted his eyes, though not quickly enough to miss seeing that every bone in her body was prominent, and that her thighs were glistening with liquid. When she had pulled her dress on, she indicated the door, and Rabastan followed her own quickly.

Almost as soon as the bedroom door had closed behind them, Narcissa dissolved into tears. Rabastan stared at her with no idea what to do.

"Please," she begged, between sobs. "Please, _please_ don't tell anyone. I'll _never_ get married if people find out!"

"I- I wouldn't–"

"You don't understand," she interrupted. "You don't _understand_ how important it is that no one finds out! People already suspect that I'm n- not- not a… _you know_…" She paused, and when Rabastan said nothing, she whispered, "_not a virgin_."

"I- I don't think anyone does suspect–"

"If they found out I'd gone to bed with a woman, no man would ever want me," Narcissa continued hysterically, before Rabastan could reassure her. "I'd never find a husband who would take me, I never would! And I don't- not with- I don't do that sort of thing with most women, only with Andromeda, and not often, I swear!"

Narcissa's distress was every bit as disquieting as seeing her in the bed in the first place had been. Rabastan wanted to take her and shake her and make her _listen_ when he said he would keep her secret, but he was afraid to put his hands on her. She looked as if she'd fly to bits at the slightest touch.

"And then I'll have to stay with Father," she finished in a whisper. "Please don't tell. Please don't force me to stay with my father…"

Rabastan felt a bit sick. "I wouldn't!"

Narcissa swooned against the wall and covered her face with her hands. "I don't believe you! I don't believe that you wouldn't tell!" Her voice dropped to a mumble. "All men are alike…"

"All men are not alike!" Rabastan responded immediately and indignantly. "I'm not about to tell anyone about you and Andromeda – she knows I'm not!"

"Andromeda is too trusting," Narcissa mumbled, more to herself than to Rabastan. "She doesn't understand what people are like. She doesn't understand that people are bad – if she did, she'd never go about with that Mudblood…"

"Mudblood?" Suddenly, Rabastan was alert. "What Mudblood?" And when Narcissa didn't say anything, he repeated more loudly, "_What Mudblood_?"

"Can't tell," Narcissa whispered under her breath. "I can't tell. You can't tell. I'm sorry."

The bedroom door opened suddenly and Andromeda stepped out, dressed and composed.

"Go home, Cissy!" she said loudly, then, in a slightly softer voice, added, "I'll make sure Rabastan doesn't tell anybody. You trust me, don't you, Cissy?"

Narcissa didn't say anything, but she looked up accusingly at Andromeda, and her meaning was clear. _No. You trust. I don't_.

"I'll make sure," Andromeda repeated firmly. "Go home."

Narcissa straightened up a little and looked from Rabastan to Andromeda. Her eyes were glassy and tears were dripping down her cheeks, but her face was expressionless.

"Liar," she said. "You're lying. He'll tell, and he'll ruin everything."

"No, he won't." Andromeda seemed slightly impatient now, and she reached out and took Narcissa's wrist. "He won't, because I know a secret about him, and if he tells anyone about us, I'll tell people his secret too."

Rabastan swallowed back a lump of fear, his palms becoming clammy at the mere thought, but Andromeda didn't look at him. Narcissa didn't either. She stared instead at her sister, quite intently, and then she turned away abruptly and started for the stairs. Rabastan opened his mouth to say something – _anything_ – but Andromeda held up her hand to indicate that he should keep silent. Only when Narcissa was gone did Andromeda turn to him.

"Well?" she said, and her voice was as cold and full of hatred as ever it had been. "Was there something you wanted to say to me?"

"You…" Rabastan searched for words to articulate what had caused the knot in the pit of his stomach. "You didn't tell me that you and Narcissa were…"

"Didn't tell you," she interrupted scornfully. "Oh, that's rich – as if you have some right to know."

"I'm your husband!"

"You didn't tell me that you and Rodolphus _were_ either. And I'm your wife," she snapped back. "I didn't realize that we weren't allowed to have secrets – or is it only that I'm not allowed to have secrets from you?"

Rabastan said nothing. He turned away from her and pressed his lips together.

_He didn't like being kept in the dark._

"Weren't you supposed to spend the night with the Dark Lord?" Andromeda asked after a moment, and to Rabastan's surprise, her voice had suddenly softened. She didn't exactly sound kind, but she didn't sound angry either, not the way she had before.

"I was going to, yes."

"Did something happen?"

His first inclination was to tell her that it was none of her business, and that he would keep more secrets from her if he damn well wanted to. But then another thought came to his mind, and Rabastan felt a sick, sadistic jolt of pleasure in his chest.

"Yes," he said. "Something happened. I tortured and killed a man." And when a look of horror dawned on Andromeda's face, he added, spitting out each word, and sounding – to his own ears – more dangerous and powerful than he ever had before in his life, "And I'd gladly do it again."


	44. Chapter 44

Andromeda fell back a step, and the colour drained from her face.

"Are you drunk, Rabastan?" she whispered. Rabastan had never seen such open fear on anyone's face – _not even his own_ – and there was a certain pleasure to causing such an expression of horror.

"No, I'm not drunk. Do I look drunk to you?" To his own ear, Rabastan's voice sounded stronger, braver than it ever had before.

"Then how- how can you say things like that?"

"I'm only telling the truth."

"I don't believe you!" Andromeda's voice went shrill and she reached out and grabbed Rabastan's shirt, shaking him back and forth. "Don't tell lies like that, Rabastan! You wouldn't!"

"Yes, I would." What a mess Andromeda looked, still slick with perspiration and pale as death. Rabastan felt a sudden twinge of disgust and he pushed her away.

"You're not a killer, Rabastan," she whispered, and _oh_, he could tell that she wanted to believe it. She was trying as hard as she could to believe that he, weak little Rabastan Lestrange, didn't have it in him to commit murder. But she was wrong to think that, and she knew it.

"Why?" she managed at last. "Why would you, Rabastan? Why would you _kill_?"

"He was a Muggle," he told her, and she visibly winced.

"That's all?" Her voice cracked. "He was a Muggle, so you killed him? Rabastan, _why_?"

"The Dark Lord wished it," he said, and he didn't think he could have given any answer that would have provoked a stronger reaction from Andromeda. Her eyes bulged out, her jaw went slack, and she stared at Rabastan with a look of absolute shock.

"The _Dark Lord_?" she asked in a hiss at last. "The _Dark Lord_ wished it? _He_ had you kill someone – a _stranger!_ Someone who had never done you any harm! – and _still_ you stand by him?"

"Of course I stand by him." Andromeda's reaction provoked a slight sensation of pleasure in the pit of Rabastan's stomach, and he found himself smiling. "I would never make anything of myself if it weren't for him."

"Is that what you think you're doing? _Making something of yourself_?" she demanded. "Is that what you think murder is? That man _died_ because _you–_"

"_Muggle!_" he interrupted loudly. "That _Muggle_ died."

"Do you think that not calling him a man will somehow make you less guilty?"

Rabastan fell silent to ponder that. _ Did it make him feel less guilty_? Less guilty than what? Than if he had killed a Wizard? He tried to imagine what he would feel if he had murdered a Pureblood, but try as he did, he couldn't quite summon any feeling at all.

"I don't feel guilty."

"You _should!_ You committed _murder!_"

"Stop saying that!" Rabastan burst out, to his own surprise. "Stop calling it _murder_."

"That's what it was!" She looked outraged. "Or was it some sort of accident? Pray tell, Rabastan, if it wasn't murder, what was it?"

He pressed his lips together and glared at her. She was making this so _difficult_. The Dark Lord had made everything seem lovely and simple, just a few easy spells (and killing was just _one_ easy spell), but when Andromeda screamed and called it _murder_…

"It was like killing an animal," he told her. "And I don't see why you care about a Muggle's death."

"He wasn't _just_ a Muggle! Don't you understand, Rabastan?" A tear slipped down Andromeda's cheek and she dashed it away with the back of her hand. "He must have had a family! A family and friends and work and thoughts of his own, and he never did you any wrong–"

And suddenly, it was all too much for Rabastan.

"Shut up!" he shouted at her, and his wand was out before he even knew what he was doing. He brandished it at her. "Shut up, shut up, shut the _Hell_ up! You have no idea – what do _you_ know about Muggles?"

"What do _you_ know about Muggles?" She stood her ground but he could see her shrinking away from him, eyeing his wand warily. "Have you ever even talked to a Muggle?"

"Have you?" he shot back. When she didn't answer, he said, "I know what Muggles have done – what they do – and I know what the Dark Lord has told me. What else do you think I ought to know?" The hand holding his wand began to shake, but he didn't lower it. "I _know_ Muggles have families and thoughts of their own – but they're _out of their minds_, Andromeda." His voice softened a little. He wanted her to understand. He could see hatred on her face, and he didn't want _that_; of course he didn't want her to hate him – she was his wife. "They're the mad ones, not me."

"Just because they do mad things, doesn't mean that you can just go about killing them!" she cried. "Don't you _understand_ that, Rabastan? You _must_- you _can't_ really think that you're free to just go about _committing murder–_"

"I told you to stop calling it that!"

"But _that's what it is!_" Fresh tears were spilling down Andromeda's face, and she did nothing to wipe them away now. "Rabastan- Rabastan, what's the matter with you? I thought you were better than this!"

"Well." It was more difficult to shout at her now that she was crying. "Well, I suppose you were wrong, weren't you?"

"I suppose I was," she said bitterly, and glared at him. "It's my own fault for trusting you- for believing that you would be any better than–" She broke off abruptly and pressed her lips together.

"Than who?"

"I'm not going to say it," she said, but Rabastan could practically hear her thoughts, and she was thinking, _better than your father._

"Go to Hell," he whispered, and his voice broke.

Andromeda didn't respond. She just pressed her lips tightly together, and after a moment, she said. "I'm going back to bed."

"Fine."

She turned and swept back into the bedroom, and Rabastan followed her. When she turned and glared at him, clearly meaning, _get out; I don't want you here_, he only glared back and set about undressing.

"What's this?" Andromeda snapped at him. "Have you finally decided you want to sleep in the same bed as your wife?"

He would have snapped back that she was the one who had never wanted him to sleep with her, but there was no use. He tossed his clothes across a chair and slipped into bed, and saw Andromeda shudder. When she crawled into bed beside him, he felt cold sweat on her skin, and she shivered every time he touched her.

It was sad, really, but Rabastan didn't feel a shred of remorse for her – indeed, he relished her discomfort when he moved close to her and put his arms around her waist. Feeling her shudder and try to discreetly pull away from him made him feel more powerful than anything he had experienced in the past – more powerful, even, than killing had made him feel, because he wasn't numb to this. He was able to enjoy everything about the way she cringed from him, everything little movement and sound she made that betrayed that she was afraid of him.

He didn't do anything to hurt her, of course he didn't – he would never have really wanted to hurt Andromeda. But no matter what he actually did, she was afraid of him still.

No one had ever been afraid of him before.

It was intoxicating, this sense of power that came with knowing someone feared him – and not just _someone_, but his wife. She _knew_ him, and yesterday – or even a few hours ago – she would probably have scoffed and said that she would never be afraid of him.

She had underestimated him. They had _all_ underestimated him.

He wrapped his arms around Andromeda's waist and buried his face in her hair to inhale the scent of her sweat. She whimpered, and he smiled into her curls.

Maybe he was mad, as Andromeda had seemed so eager to label him. He didn't think that killing a Muggle constituted madness, but there was something about the way he was feeling now – slightly delirious, slightly manic, even as he lay perfectly still in his heretofore empty marriage bed – that did call to mind certain definitions of insanity. Surely this newfound pleasure that he took in Andromeda's discomfort was not a sign of a healthy mind.

But as he lay Andromeda – _poor Andromeda_, he thought, for there was a still-lucid part of his mind that deeply regretted inspiring fear in her – he found that he couldn't quite bring himself to care if perhaps he was not sane. He tried idly to summon some of the deep fear of madness that was supposed to be instilled in every living person, and he found none. In fact, the longer he lay silently and drank in Andromeda's fear, the more appealing the prospect of being a madman became.

His body had never been healthy. Why should his mind be?


	45. Chapter 45

Rabastan did not sleep soundly that night, and he doubted Andromeda slept at all, for every time he began to doze off, he felt her begin to pull away from him and he had to rouse himself to hold on to her. For her part, she was mercifully silent, and didn't whimper or beg. Perhaps she was afraid to. Perhaps she thought he would kill her if she made a sound.

There was a part of Rabastan that detested that he had frightened Andromeda so. She was his wife, after all. As deeply as he searched himself, as much as he mulled the possibility over during the night and came to understand how _easy_ it would be to hurt her (_to kill her, if he wanted_), he could find no real will to.

But _oh_, when she shivered…

The feelings that it gave him were closer to how it felt to be kissed by the Dark Lord or by Rodolphus than how it had felt to make love to Andromeda. His stomach knotted up when she turned her head away from him.

"You're afraid of me," he whispered, more to himself than to her. _You're afraid of me._ It was a novelty. A new, exciting, _erotic_ possibility.

"You're a murderer," Andromeda whispered back. _Murderer_. Such a powerful word. Something that no one would have expected to be applied to weak, snivelling, useless little Rabastan Lestrange.

He felt his cock twitch, and Andromeda must have felt it too, for she let out a little whimper and then raised her hand to press over her mouth. "Just- just let me go, Rabastan, please…" she whispered through her fingers, and he could feel her fear rekindled. "I'll- I'll go sleep downstairs- please…"

"But I want you here."

"_Why?_" Andromeda's voice rose hysterically and she twisted around so that she could look at him. She looked desperate. He loved it. "For God's sake, Rabastan, what do you want with me? I- I'm a woman!" A tear slipped down her cheek. "Why do you want me in your bed when I'm a woman? Surely a man- any man- you could–"

"Shut up," he told her sharply, and she fell silent and closed her eyes, dashing her tears away. Rabastan lapsed into silence as well, considering.

If sex was what he wanted, then of course, he should have – and moreover, _would_ have – gone and found a man. That was obvious. But he _didn't_ want sex, even though his cock was hard and his whole body tingling with arousal. Just falling into bed with a man – even the Dark Lord, even his brother – wouldn't have pleased him the way watching Andromeda's distress was pleasing him now. This wasn't _about_ sex. It was about fear. It was about knowing that Andromeda was terrified, so terrified that she would lie in bed with a murderer and let him embrace her because she was scared of what he would do to her if she didn't. Rabastan wouldn't have had that power with anyone else. The Dark Lord was blasé about murder, and with good reason – he had done more than Rabastan ever could. And Rodolphus…

What would Rodolphus say when he found out what Rabastan had done? For the first time, the confidence and pleasure that Rabastan had felt since lying down beside Andromeda ebbed away, leaving a cold, sickening pit in his stomach.

Rodolphus would have no reason to be afraid – Rabastan would _never_ hurt him, not even if the Dark Lord ordered it – but _what would he say?_ Rabastan could already imagine the look on his brother's face. Rodolphus would not understand. Rodolphus would look at him and wonder why he did it, and whether there was anything that he, Rodolphus, should have done to protect his little brother. He would think it was his fault. He had done more to raise Rabastan than their parents ever had, and so if Rabastan went astray, he would see it as some failing on his part.

He could practically see his face, full of hurt and dismay, and hear his voice. _Why, Rab? Why did you do it? You were always so good._

Rabastan sat up in bed, cold sweat breaking out across his brow. Here he had been, lying in bed and getting hard over how he could frighten his wife, indulging in his sick self-congratulation, and he hadn't even given a thought to what Rodolphus would say.

_Poor Rodolphus. _He had looked so pale and drawn, so nervous and _hurt_, and now Rabastan would be giving him one more weight to carry, giving him one more thing to think he had done wrong. Why hadn't Rabastan thought of that before he got carried away by the Dark Lord's encouragement?

"Rabastan?" Andromeda's voice shook terribly. "Rabastan, what is it?"

He didn't answer her.

He could go to Rodolphus immediately and confess. He could get down on his knees and cry into his brother's lap as he had when he was young, and he would say that it had all been a mistake. And Rodolphus would comfort him and tell him that he still loved him and always would…

And Rodolphus _would_ always love him. Rabastan didn't doubt that for a moment. But he would carry the burden still, and Rabastan couldn't bear to be responsible for his brother lying awake at night and wondering whether there was something he should have done to stop Rabastan from turning into a killer.

He would have to keep it secret. That was the only thing for it. He would never tell Rodolphus what he had done. It would be a difficult secret to keep – and he could hear his own voice telling Rodolphus that_ brothers shouldn't keep secrets_, and the hypocrisy stung him – but he would do it for Rodolphus's sake. Rodolphus was already carrying enough burdens; it was only right that Rabastan should have to carry one of his own.

He sank back onto the bed, and didn't touch Andromeda. He didn't even look at her. All thoughts of arousal had been swept from his mind, replaced by the haunting mental image of his brother being tortured over what Rabastan had done.

_Tortured because he would think it was his fault._

When Rabastan had been very young – only six, and Rodolphus had been nine – the two of them had sneaked into their father's study when he was away one day. The door was kept locked most often, and Rabastan had been in it on only a handful of previous occasions, so it was a grand and exciting experience. Rodolphus climbed up into the tall winged armchair by the fire, and Rabastan, without so much as a second thought, rushed to the chair so that he could join his brother on it.

The seat was high, well above Rabastan's waist, and he struggled to try to lift himself onto it. Rodolphus laughed and offered to help, but Rabastan shook his head stubbornly, because he knew he could do it himself. He gripped onto the edge of the seat and pushed himself up, wheezing and gasping with the effort, and in his struggle to lift himself, his foot caught the edge of an end table and it went toppling over. A bottle of ink smashed across the carpet, the stack of parchments that had been resting on the table scattered, several landing among the embers in the fireplace, which lit up immediately, and Rabastan, in his surprise, landed flat on his back in the mess.

Rodolphus was off the chair in the blink of an eye and at Rabastan's side and asking if he was all right, where did he hurt, how badly, could he sit up, and all Rabastan could do was choke out, "The- fire."

Rabastan lay on his back, trying not to cry, while Rodolphus trampled out the fire. Maria must have heard the crash, because she came rushing in, and when she demanded to know what happened, Rabastan didn't even have a chance to open his mouth before Rodolphus blurted out, "I did it."

"Rodolphus!" Maria looked shocked. She stooped and lifted Rabastan up in her arms, sending terrible pain shooting through his back and neck, and she rocked him back and forth like an oversized baby while she glared at Rodolphus.

"It was an accident," Rodolphus said. "We were playing. I knocked the table over. I'm sorry."

Maria took Rabastan straight to bed then, so he didn't know what happened next, but Maria must have gone out and fetched Joseph, because Rabastan heard his father shouting indistinctly. He curled up in bed and tried not to cry.

That night, when Rodolphus was undressing – for that had been when they were young enough to share a room and undress together – Rabastan saw the marks on his backside and the backs of his thighs.

"Did Father whip you?" he asked in a hushed voice, and Rodolphus nodded matter-of-factly.

"But it was my fault." Rabastan's stomach turned and he sat up, clutching the sheets. "I was the one who knocked the table over. I should have been the one he whipped."

"We shouldn't have been playing in his study. I should have helped you up." Rodolphus didn't look at him while he crawled into their shared bed.

"It's not your fault!"

"It's always my fault." There was no resentment in Rodolphus's voice; he sounded no more impassioned than if he had been telling Rabastan that birds flew south for the winter. He was only sharing a fact. "I'm your older brother. I need to take care of you. If you do something wrong, it's because I wasn't taking care of you well enough."

Rabastan didn't think that was fair, but he didn't say anything more, only hugged his brother as tightly as he could and nestled his head in his shoulder.

Now, all these years later, Rabastan _knew_ it wasn't fair for Rodolphus to take a beating on his behalf, and he would never have expected it. He wasn't Rodolphus's responsibility anymore. But he knew his brother well enough to know that Rodolphus didn't see it that way, and the rule that had held true when he was six would still hold true at eighteen. Rabastan had done something wrong, and Rodolphus would take the beating for it, even if the beating was only in his own mind.


	46. Chapter 46

Rabastan slept poorly that night. He didn't toss or turn – he didn't even move, just lay flat on his back – and every time he began to drift to sleep, he was jerked awake by the memory of the bruises on the back of Rodolphus's legs or the thought of what he would say if he ever found out what Rabastan had done, and then he had to lay still and breathe deeply and try to ease himself back to sleep. He could sense Andromeda next to him all night long, which was an unfamiliar and slightly off-putting experience – her tension was palpable. When the sky outside finally began to lighten from black to steel grey, Rabastan dragged himself from bed and made his way down to the kitchen. There was a bottle of wine open on the table, and a dark red stain on the wood around it, as if it had been splashed out.

Andromeda had been drinking last night, no doubt.

She'd do harm to the baby by drinking so much, Rabastan though – but then, perhaps that was exactly what she wanted. Were he in her place, he would have hated the baby and wanted nothing to do with it; certainly not wanted to avoid drinking for its sake.

He considered stopping the bottle and putting it back in the cabinet, cleaning up the spilled wine and saying no more about it, but he paused with his hand hovering over the neck.

No. He wouldn't clean up Andromeda's messes. She was barely his wife – last night had been the first time they had slept the full night in the same bed, he realized with a twinge of surprise and almost regret – and she certainly wasn't his responsibility.

He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a deep gulp of it. The wine would make him sick later in the day, he had no doubt, but the bitter taste of it on his tongue brought him a sense of clarity that he hadn't had all night – and it reminded him of the first night he had spent with the Dark Lord.

When he had drunk enough for his satisfaction, he opened the window and poured the remainder into the garden, and left the empty bottle on the table.

He half-expected Andromeda to confront him about it, but she didn't. In fact, he didn't see her for the rest of the day, though he did not go out of his way to avoid her. For the entirety of the rest of the week, Rabastan barely saw his wife. He was aware of her presence – they passed in the corridors every so often, and she kept her head down and did not look at him; food disappeared from the kitchens and more bottles of wine were left open and half-finished – but not a word or even a glance passed between them. He did not alert her when he went to see the Dark Lord on Sunday, which was just as well, for when the meeting was over and the other Death Eaters filed out, the Dark Lord looked to Rabastan, who remained, and said, "I think you should go home tonight."

It stung badly, but it was a relief nonetheless. Rabastan's bold intentions of begging for forgiveness and disguising his infidelity as a boy's passing fancy had faded, and he had not given thought to how he would word the speech in any case. Being sent home without so much as a kiss merely meant that he wouldn't have to excuse his behaviour yet.

Without any interaction with Andromeda, and with only limited time spent with the Dark Lord – and none of that spent in intimate conversation – Rabastan was aware of a decline in his mood. He felt listless and melancholy, and spent most of his days wandering the manor or gardens, or the moors outside, where autumn was quickly setting in. Mornings and evenings were cool, heavy fog hung in the air until midday or later, and on many days, the sun never seemed to come out at all. In early October, a sloppy drizzle began, and carried on for weeks without any sign of stopping. The weather suited Rabastan's mood.

It was not until the twenty-seventh of October that Andromeda approached him, and her expression was set in such a way that she looked as if she was anticipating that he would attack her at any moment.

"It's Bellatrix's birthday," she said.

"Is it?" Rabastan's voice was scratchy and quiet from disuse, and he couldn't muster the will to strengthen it.

"Yes. There's to be a party tonight at my parents' manor."

"Is there?" For the life of him, Rabastan couldn't imagine what she hoped to accomplish by telling him this.

"I'm going to attend. I think that you should as well."

"And why should I do that?"

"She's your sister-in-law."

"It may have escaped your notice," Rabastan said dryly, looking away, "that Bellatrix and I are not terribly close."

He heard Andromeda take a deep breath and let it out very slowly. When she spoke again, her voice was measured almost to the point of sounding unnatural.

"Your brother will be there."

Rabastan swallowed hard, and struggled to sound careless and disinterested. "Of course he will. What of it?"

"Don't you want to see him?"

Rabastan swallowed again and opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He could feel a fine sweat breaking across his forehead, and when he did not respond immediately, Andromeda pressed, "You aren't avoiding your brother, are you?"

He looked at her sharply, and she smiled. It was a small, cruel smile, one side of her mouth lifting up into the vaguest expression of contempt.

"Of course I'm not," he lied.

"Then surely you'd be thrilled – it wouldn't be like you to turn down an opportunity to see your brother."

Rabastan felt like a vice had been tightened around his throat. He struggled for words for a few moments, then said, "I- I'll attend the party, then- of course."

"I thought you might."

Andromeda turned and left then without another word, and Rabastan put a hand out to balance himself against the wall, for he was afraid that if he didn't, he would end up on the ground. How she dared, how she _dared!_ Did she even begin to understand all the reasons Rabastan didn't want to attend Bellatrix's party? The thought of seeing Bellatrix again sickened him – he could already imagine the look on her face; a small, satisfied smirk to indicate that she knew all about him and his brother, all about how he felt towards the Dark Lord, and that she was standing squarely in the way of both relationships. Oh, how she must gloat when she was alone – Rabastan didn't want to spend a single second of his life honouring her, not even for a birthday.

And Rodolphus… Rabastan had diligently avoided Rodolphus, not that that had been difficult. He anticipated that his brother didn't want to see him for fear of memories of their night together, and Rabastan was happy to avoid him for now so that he wouldn't have to look on him with the guilt of committing a murder weighing on his soul.

And what did Andromeda want to go to the party for in any case? Why did she want Rabastan there? Why would she be so invested that she would all but taunt him with cowardice should he not attend? Rabastan had thought sure that Andromeda would want to avoid all functions involving their families, after what his father and hers did to her… both of them would be there, no doubt, and would Andromeda have to look at them without betraying how they had hurt her?

_All the more reason for you to be there with her_, said the small part of Rabastan that felt protective towards Andromeda. But if that was what she wanted, then it was damned bold of her to talk him into it by taunting him.

_Perhaps that was the only way she knew to do it._

Rabastan let out a long, shuddering sigh and wiped the cooling perspiration from his forehead.

It didn't matter in any case, now that he had promised. He couldn't very well back out of the obligation now, even if he didn't understand why she wanted him. He would attend the party and act as if nothing was wrong. He would look Bellatrix dead in the eye and wish her a happy birthday, and he would talk to Rodolphus as if he had never killed anyone, nor ever gone to bed with him. And if it was what Andromeda wanted, he would stand at her side while she faced their fathers – but only if she did something to warrant his kindness, he added to himself. He wouldn't help her out of the goodness of his heart when she acted harshly towards him.

Rabastan took another slow breath and let go of the wall, then turned for the stairs and trudged up them to fetch his dress robes. And as he went, he quietly prayed for the night to end quickly.


	47. Chapter 47

Andromeda was waiting for Rabastan in the foyer, dressed in a pale green dress that draped conspicuously over the bulge of her stomach. Rabastan averted his eyes from her in favour of toying with the scratchy cuff of his dark velvet robes. They still overwhelmed him terribly, but when he was not comparing his appearance to Rodolphus's, he supposed he didn't really look too poorly. He must have grown since the last time he wore them.

"Shall we go, then?" he asked Andromeda, and she inclined her head slightly. She didn't look much more enthusiastic about attending the party than Rabastan felt, and he suppressed the urge to demand that she tell him what she wanted to go to the party for. If she hadn't had so much material to blackmail him with, he might have.

Black Manor was as richly decorated as ever, and far more people were milling about than Rabastan thought strictly necessary for a birthday celebration. He counted himself lucky that he had been at Hogwarts and unable to attend this sort of function for the bulk of the last seven years.

Andromeda broke away from Rabastan as soon as they arrived, and he neither saw where she disappeared to nor particularly cared. Bellatrix was in the centre of the ballroom, a glass of champagne in her hand, and talking most enthusiastically with a man Rabastan didn't recognize. Rodolphus was hovering next to her, looking rather bored. When he looked up and met Rabastan's eyes, Rabastan could have sworn that he saw his brother flinch.

He waited nervously by the door, unsure what to do with himself, as Rodolphus murmured something to Bellatrix and then moved away from the little knot of people and towards him.

"Rab," he said quietly, and Rabastan was very conscious that, instead of giving him a warm embrace as he had last time they had been separated for some time and then reunited, Rodolphus just brushed one hand awkwardly against his shoulder.

"I'm sorry I haven't come to see you," was the only thing Rabastan could think to say, and Rodolphus's lips tightened briefly before turning up into a small, rather forced smile.

"Oh, no, don't be sorry – I- Bellatrix and I have been very busy in any case, and I'm sure you've been busy too…"

_Not particularly_.

"Have- have you been well?" Never before in his life had Rabastan felt so unable to talk to his brother. Everything he could think of sounded forced or intrusive or callous or some mix of the three.

"I've been fine."

They lapsed into an awkward silence, and then Rodolphus said abruptly, "Why don't you come for a walk with me in the garden?"

"Oh…" Rabastan swallowed hard, feeling a sudden, unpleasant twisting in his stomach. He was so afraid of what he might say when he and Rodolphus were alone – here, with so many people watching, he was stiff and silent, but when they were alone and he started to relax, what would he end up saying? But he still managed to say, "All- all right, then."

The gardens of Black Manor were as lavish as the interiors, and now at the height of autumn, Rabastan thought they looked rather eerie. Vines that would have been green and full of blooms in the spring and summer had gone brown and dry, clinging and sagging from the sides of the house and garden walls. The leaves remaining on the trees had faded to shades of brown and rattled like so many bones in the cool wind. The moon was a sliver of silver in the sky, and even with the help of the lights glowing through the windows, there was not much light in the garden.

Rodolphus led Rabastan down a narrow walkway to a bench under a pair of bay willows, and only when they were both seated did Rodolphus speak.

"Do you regret doing it?"

Rabastan thought he was going to be sick. His palms went cold and damp, and his head spun. _How did he know? How did he know what Rabastan had done; did the Dark Lord tell him?_

"Do- doing what?" he asked in a weak, trembling voice, and Rodolphus looked at him with mixed surprise and exasperation.

"Sleeping together," he said, his voice so low that it was barely above a whisper.

"O- oh." The knot that had formed in his stomach loosened slightly. "I- do you?"

Rodolphus looked away, up at the Manor. "I… I don't know. At first, I thought I did, but…"

"But?"

There was a long silence, and when Rodolphus looked back at him, there were tears gleaming in his eyes.

"I enjoyed it, Rab," he said quietly. "I enjoyed it- terribly. More than I should have- you were- it was…" He broke off and ran a hand through his hair, which Rabastan thought absently was getting a little too long and ragged. Rodolphus had always taken more care of his appearance than this – or else he had always been so naturally handsome that it didn't matter.

"It was very different from- anything I'd done before," he continued, his voice shaking. "I didn't- I couldn't even _imagine_ what it was like until… but- but Rab, you're my _brother_."

"I know that."

"Then you know why I- why we _can't_ do anything like that _ever_ again."

Rabastan didn't say anything to that, though he felt a twinge of resentment. _You enjoyed it as much as I did. Don't act as if you think it's wrong when you know how good it was._

"Nothing needs to change between us, Rab." Rodolphus reached out and caught Rabastan's hands in his, squeezing them tightly. "We can put the whole thing behind us. You're still my brother, and I still love you – I always will."

It was becoming difficult to stay silent, but Rabastan managed. He didn't even swallow or sniff.

"Rab…" Rodolphus's voice had become a little more urgent. "Rab, I know you've been avoiding me. Ever since- ever since we did it. I understand – I wasn't- I wasn't ready to see you either, at first. I needed time to think about it, and I know you did too- but I don't- I don't want this to come between us- you _are_ my brother…"

A tear slipped down Rabastan's cheek, try as he might to keep it back. "That's not- that's not it at all."

"You don't have to lie, Rab, I understand. I'm not hurt."

It would have been so _easy_ to tell him the truth.

Rabastan actually opened his mouth to say that no, Rodolphus had it all wrong, Rabastan hadn't been avoiding him because of what they had done together, but because Rabastan had committed a crime and he didn't want Rodolphus to bear the weight of it. He was seconds away from breaking the promise he made to himself, that he would keep the murder a secret for Rodolphus's sake.

But he silenced himself, and wrapped his arms so tightly around Rodolphus that he could feel the folds of his robes digging into his skin. Rodolphus's body shuddered slightly, and then Rabastan felt his brother's arms wrapping around him too.

"I _do_ love you," Rodolphus mumbled, sounding like he was speaking more to himself than to Rabastan. "I do, I swear…"

Rabastan swallowed back his tears and barely managed to whisper, "How much?"

"More than anything."

He buried his face briefly in his brother's shoulder, inhaling his smell, then lifted his head and looked straight at him. With all the matter-of-factness he could muster, he asked, "Do you still want me?" And when Rodolphus looked away, he added, forcefully, "Tell me the truth."

"Yes."

Rabastan swallowed. He could feel his brother's heartbeat, feel the heat of his body, keeping him safe from the chill breeze.

"Then kiss me."

Rodolphus sighed, then leaned in and brushed his lips against Rabastan's cheek. "There."

"You know what I meant."

"Rab, I said–"

"Just a kiss!" he interrupted. "One little kiss. That's all."

Rodolphus sighed again, then put his hand gently against the back of Rabastan's head and leaned in. Rabastan parted his lips to receive the kiss, and as soon as Rodolphus's mouth came down over his, he wrapped his arms around his neck and shifted closer, resting one leg across Rodolphus's. Rodolphus let out a little groan, but didn't push Rabastan away, just deepened the kiss and ran his hands down his back.

It was easier to kiss than to talk. Rabastan wasn't sure exactly when he ended up straddling his brother, or whether that was before or after Rodolphus's shirt got unbuttoned. He wasn't really sure of anything, except that he was kissing his brother, and being kissed back with equal fervour, and that made him terribly, terribly happy.

Rodolphus broke away at last. His face was flushed and he was breathing heavily.

"Rab, we can't…"

"Can't what?" Rabastan tried to kiss him again – _he would be _damned_ if Rodolphus tried to say they couldn't do it _now – but Rodolphus pushed him away.

"Can't do it- here," he said. "Not now. What if someone came out?"

"I don't want to stop." He reached down to the waist of Rodolphus's trousers, and Rodolphus tipped his head back and groaned.

"We're supposed to be in at the party- if someone comes looking for us…"

"No one will even notice we're gone." Rabastan slid to the ground and knelt between his brother's legs. "You don't want to stop, do you? You're so hard…" He let his voice drop to a soft moan that he hoped sounded seductive as he ran his hand over the bulge in his trousers.

"Get up." Rodolphus looked pained, but he reached out and pulled Rabastan up off the ground. "Not here. Later. Later, I swear, Rab, but not- not here, not now. We have to go in."

"No…" Rabastan leaned in to kiss him again, but Rodolphus held him back.

"Later," he said. "After the party. I promise."

Rabastan was aching terribly, and he _wanted_ his brother so badly, but Rodolphus was already standing up and buttoning his shirt.

"Come on," Rodolphus murmured, gently brushing Rabastan's hair into place and straightening his robes for him. Rabastan thought it would be dreadfully obvious what they had been doing, but he didn't say as much. Rodolphus was already heading back towards the Manor. Rabastan followed him and as he went, he glanced up at building. There was a set of French doors that opened onto a small veranda, and standing on the veranda was a woman.

"Rod," Rabastan rasped. His throat went dry and the world was beginning to spin and go black at the edges. _I will not faint_. "Rod- Rod, there's–"

But Rodolphus was already inside. Rabastan was frozen in place. He couldn't make out the woman's face, or anything much about her experience save that she was dressed in white and her hair was short. But more importantly than that – much more importantly – Rabastan couldn't tell if, from where she was standing, she would have been able to see the bench where he and Rodolphus had been just moments before.

It became exceedingly difficult to walk, and Rabastan barely managed to stumble inside.

"Rab?" Rodolphus, who had clearly gone to fetch a drink, set his glass down and returned to his brother's side. "Rab, what's the matter? Do you feel ill?"

Rabastan nodded. He could feel sweat breaking across his skin, and he felt hot and cold all over.

"I'm going to faint," he mumbled, and then his legs gave out. Rodolphus's arms were around him in a second, guiding him to the ground, but before Rabastan blacked out completely, he saw the French doors open and Druella Black stepped in. Rabastan didn't have time to analyze her expression before he lost consciousness entirely, but he could tell that she was looking straight at him.


	48. Chapter 48

When Rabastan came to, he was aware that he was lying on a sofa and that his head was resting in someone's lap. He could feel a hand lightly caressing his hair, and the familiar scent of Maria's perfume was overpowering.

"How is he?"

Rabastan stiffened automatically at the sound of Druella's voice. He barely even dared to breathe, and kept his eyes closed tightly.

"He'll be fine," Maria said curtly, and Rabastan felt the hand tightening in his hair. "He must have had something to drink – he always has been sensitive to alcohol."

_Go to Hell_, Rabastan thought. His face was probably going red from anger and humiliation, but he gritted his teeth together and didn't move or speak. He heard the sound of shoes clicking across the floorboards, and then a slight creak of furniture, and Druella spoke up again.

"Perhaps he caught a chill when he was out in the gardens."

"It isn't a cold night."

"Then perhaps…" Druella's tone was light and innocent, but Rabastan could hear a gleeful note in it, the same note that Bellatrix's voice had had when she told him that the Dark Lord had taken her to bed. _Like mother, like daughter_. "Perhaps he was a bit, ah… overexcited."

"Over your daughter's party? I think not. It isn't as if this is a terribly singular event."

"Oh, not over the party, no." Druella let out a small laugh. Rabastan could feel perspiration breaking over his forehead and palms. And still he didn't move – he dared not; he was frozen like an animal in front of a hunter, too afraid to defend himself, and what could he do? Even if he interrupted her now, she would find some way to spread the rumour still…

"Then over what?" Maria snapped. She was digging her fingernails into Rabastan's scalp, and probably not even aware of what she was doing.

"Why, over what he was doing in the garden, of course."

There was a brief silence, and then Maria said, her voice shaking very slightly, "What are you talking about, Druella?"

"Oh, well- perhaps I oughtn't say, it's such a shame… but as their mother, you ought to know…"

Rabastan thought Druella was barely disguising glee, and he imagined that she was smiling widely, but apparently she was disguising her intentions well enough to fool Maria, who snapped, "You're damned right that I ought to know if something's happened to my son!"

"It's not so much that something happened to him, you see," Druella said lightly. "And it's not just your one son…"

"What are you on about, Druella?"

Again, Druella balked. "I really oughtn't say; it would be mortifying for you if it ever got out…"

Rabastan felt his mother's hand go clammy.

"What is it?" she asked, and suddenly her voice was much quieter. Rabastan tensed – did his mother already suspect? She sounded so worried now – did she have some inkling of the relationship between her sons? When Druella didn't immediately answer, she pressed, "Was it something to do with Rodolphus? Did you hear him saying something?"

_Oh_.

Rabastan thought he was going to be ill. How did she have the _nerve_ to sit here with her hand on his head and fear that the things she had done with her other son were going to be exposed? How did she _dare_?

"It is something to do with Rodolphus…"

"Oh, Druella!" Maria's voice changed suddenly and she let out a very sharp, very false trill of laughter. "You know how boys can be, always so eager to say that they've tried all sorts–"

"_Say they've tried_?" Druella said, and for the first time, she sounded sincerely shocked instead of smug and mocking. "By God, Maria, do you know what your sons were _doing_?" She didn't even give Maria a chance to answer before spitting out, "I saw them _kissing_, Maria – that's not some sort of boyish–"

"_Kissing?_" Maria interrupted loudly, and Rabastan was sent tumbling to the floor as she leapt to her feet. His head hit the floorboards with a painful _crack_ and he clutched it automatically, forgetting that he was supposed to be unconscious. But neither Maria nor Druella seemed to be paying any mind.

"How _dare_ you!" Maria screamed. She was across the room in a moment, and as Rabastan watched, she dragged Druella to her feet and slapped her across her face. "How _dare_ you say such things about my sons!"

"You don't believe me?" Druella hissed, clutching her cheek where an angry red mark was already appearing.

"Of course I don't! You've wanted for people to believe my sons were unmarriageable for years! But I never thought that even _you_ would have the _nerve_ to tell such blatant _lies!_"

"They aren't lies, Maria. And," she added triumphantly, "it doesn't matter if you believe me – everyone else will."

Rabastan tried to heave himself up into a sitting position. The place where he had hit the back of his head was throbbing.

"How dare you!" shrieked Maria. "How dare you, how _dare you_ stand there with that cat-that-got-the-cream look on your face, you smug, insufferable little–"

"Mother?"

The parlour door swung open, and Rodolphus stepped in. Rabastan looked up at him and watched his eyes widen as he took in the scene – Rabastan sprawled on the floor, and Maria standing, red-faced, over Druella, who was still clutching her cheek and sneering slightly.

"What's going on?" Rodolphus stepped forward, pulling Maria back from Druella. "Mother, you oughtn't to be straining yourself–"

"I'm pregnant, Rodolphus, not an invalid." The colour had risen so strongly in Maria's face that she looked positively crimson. "If you knew what Druella had said, you would be glad…"

"Why don't I tell him?" Druella interrupted. "Why don't I tell him what I saw him and his brother doing in the gardens? Then you can watch and see for yourself how guilty he looks!"

"Pardon?"

"Druella says that she saw you and Rabastan…" Maria's mouth twisted and she pressed the back of her hand over it, as if she was going to cry, or perhaps be sick. "She says- you–"

"I saw you kissing him in the gardens," Druella interrupted, and Rodolphus's face went stark white.

"You- you saw- what?" he whispered hoarsely.

"You see?" said Druella triumphantly. "You can see how guilty–"

"He's shocked that you would ever say such a thing of him!" cried Maria. Rabastan, who Maria and Druella seemed to have completely forgotten, managed to heave himself up to his feet, and clung onto a bookcase to steady himself.

"You don't really believe that," Druella said disparagingly. "You should be ashamed of yourself, Rodolphus – committing adultery against your wife on her birthday, and with your _brother_, of all people!"

"Rodolphus would _never_!" Maria sounded positively hysterical. "He would never- not with a man!"

"Funny, Maria, that you protest that he'd never commit sodomy rather than that he'd never commit incest." Was it Rabastan's imagination, or did Druella give Maria a little knowing glance? If it was his imagination, then Maria shared his delusion, because her cheeks went positively purple.

"What are you accusing me of?"

"Oh, I'm not accusing anything… guilty conscience, Maria?"

"Stop it!" Rodolphus interrupted loudly, and both women fell silent. Rodolphus was shaking visibly, but his voice was steady. "Can't you see how badly you're upsetting Rabastan? He's only just woken, and you're accusing him of- of doing _things_ with his own brother! Mother," he added softly, "Mother, please let me talk to her – you shouldn't be exciting yourself like this."

"I refuse to stand by and let my son be accused–"

"_Mother, please._"

Maria pressed her lips together hard, then slammed out of the parlour without another word, and Rodolphus let out a long, slow breath and looked to Druella.

"Are you blackmailing us, is that it?" he asked quietly. "What do you want from us so you don't tell anyone?"

"Blackmailing?" Druella snorted. "You two don't have anything I want. I'm not interested in blackmail, I'm just interested in telling the truth. I did tell Cygnus that we shouldn't marry both Bellatrix and Narcissa into your family, you know, but upstanding families that maintain their purity are so hard to come by these days, now that the Longbottoms and the Prewetts are marrying all the wrong sorts – and given certain… allegations… we didn't think it best to let our daughters marry into _my_ family…"

Rabastan found that he had, without realizing it, moved his hand to the pocket of his robes, where his wand was tucked.

"Is this about Mother?" Rodolphus asked. "I know you can't stand her, but please, Rabastan and I haven't done anything to you…"

"Anything but be unfaithful to my daughters."

She looked so smug, so self-satisfied, and Rabastan couldn't stand it. Before he even knew what he was doing, his wand was out, and he heard the curse pass his lips. "_Crucio!_"

Druella screamed and collapsed to the floor. Rodolphus let out a cry as well, jumping back away from her as she writhed on the ground.

"_Rabastan!_"

But Rabastan ignored his brother's distress. He held the curse on Druella for a long moment, relishing the way she twisted under his spell. For as long as he'd known her – as long as he could remember – he had wanted to hurt her, and now, at last, he was getting the chance.

"Rabastan- Rabastan, stop it!" Rodolphus rushed across the room and shook him, and Rabastan, his concentration broken, let his wand drop.

"What are you thinking?" Rodolphus hissed. "Where did you even learn to use that spell?"

Rabastan shook him off, glaring down at Druella, who was staring up at him with an expression of shock and fear.

"Don't you ever- don't you _ever_ tell anyone what you saw," he snarled. His voice didn't sound like his own; he sounded stronger and colder than he had ever heard himself. "I can do worse than that – I could even do it to your precious daughters!"

"I- you–"

"Swear you won't tell anybody what you saw!" Rabastan interrupted loudly. He was in no mood to hear Druella snivel or rebuke him. "Swear it – I don't want to hear you say anything else!"

"I swear!" Druella said tearfully, and Rabastan let out a slow breath through his teeth.

"Get out," he said, and Druella, looking positively horrified, stumbled to her feet and fled. As soon as she was gone, Rabastan felt like all the energy had been drained from him, and he sagged against the bookcases again.

"Rab- oh, Rab!" Rodolphus caught him and shook him roughly. "Rabastan, what were you- how could you do something like that?"

"She deserved it. She was going to tell people."

"What's the matter with you, Rabastan?" Tears had begun to gather in Rodolphus's eyes. "Have you lost your mind? Rab, the Cruciatus Curse is an _Unforgivable_- you could be sent to Azkaban for using it!"

"Only if she tells people."

"And what makes you think she won't?"

"She won't," Rabastan said, with more confidence than he felt then, though no more than he had felt when Druella had been on the ground, shaking and staring up at him. "She just won't."

"Who taught you to use that spell?" Rodolphus demanded.

"The Dark Lord, of course."

"The _Dark Lord!_ What's he doing, teaching you- you're only a child, Rab!"

"I'm _not a child!_" Rabastan interrupted, and though he hadn't meant to scream, his voice did rise. "I'm not a child! I'm a Death Eater, and I didn't see you doing anything to stop her from telling everyone what we had done!"

"It's our own fault for doing it," Rodolphus said through gritted teeth. "If we didn't want to get caught, we shouldn't have–"

"Oh, don't bother trying to act like you didn't want to do it, you were as eager as I was!"

"Be that as it may…"

Rabastan turned around and ran his hands roughly through his hair, then pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes and watched the stars pop in front of them. There was a long pause.

"I'm sorry," Rodolphus mumbled. "I shouldn't have ever let things get this far."

"Don't!" To his frustration, Rabastan's voice had become choked with tears. "Don't talk about what we never should have done and how wrong it is that we did what we did – I'm not interested in hearing it!"

Rodolphus sighed, and then Rabastan felt his brother's strong arms wrap around his waist and almost automatically, he relaxed into his brother's arms. Rodolphus's body was warm against him, and it felt solid and _safe_ to be held by him.

"I love you, Rab. You know I do," Rodolphus murmured, and when Rabastan didn't say anything, he kissed his temple lightly. "I love you more than anything- more than- more than just a brother…"

A tear slid down Rabastan's cheek, and Rodolphus brushed it away for him.

"We have to be more careful from now on," he continued in a voice barely above a whisper – it didn't _have_ to be above a whisper, his lips were so close to Rabastan's ear. "We can't let ourselves be seen again, Rab, we can't. I don't want you to ever use that spell like this again."

"All right," he said, but in his exhaustion in the aftermath of the curse, Rabastan would have promised nearly anything that Rodolphus might have asked of him.

He felt so weak, and his brother's embrace was the only thing keeping him steady.


	49. Chapter 49

Rodolphus held him for a long time, but it wasn't nearly long enough for Rabastan. He felt a pang when his brother pulled away at last.

"Stay here," Rodolphus said quietly. "I have to go back to the party. Shall- shall I–" His voice shook briefly, and he swallowed and continued, "Shall I tell Andromeda to go home without you… that you're going to stay here and- and rest?"

Rabastan nodded and curled up on the sofa when Rodolphus was gone. His hands were shaking, and though he tried to calm himself, he felt shaky and a little disoriented, and he couldn't help replaying the events of the evening.

_He shouldn't have kissed his brother_. He shouldn't have done it where they could be caught. _He shouldn't have tortured Druella_. He shouldn't have done it in front of Rodolphus. Rodolphus was probably out at the party, stewing silently over where he'd gone wrong and how he'd let Rabastan learn things like the Cruciatus curse.

And that rankled too – badly. In his mind, he replayed what Rodolphus had said. _You're only a child_.

He _wasn't_ a child. He was eighteen, old enough to be married, old enough to have affairs, old enough to be desired and old enough to be a Death Eater. Of _course_ he knew what the Cruciatus curse was and how to use it. Rodolphus shouldn't be _sheltering_ him…

But of course, he was just trying to protect him. He just wanted to keep Rabastan safe, that was all. He only meant to be a good brother.

But _still_…

Rabastan curled up into a tight ball on the sofa, closed his eyes, and tried not to think about it. Instead he thought about the night ahead, and how Rodolphus must want him, _really_ want him and not just be pitying him, because he was going to tell Andromeda that Rabastan was staying the night, and he had promised out in the gardens that they would have the chance to do more…

He let out a long, soft shudder, thinking of the way that, in just a few hours, he would be on top of beautiful, _perfect_ brother…

He must have drifted to sleep, because the next thing he was aware of was Rodolphus's voice, quietly saying, "Rab… Rab, wake up."

Rabastan's eyes snapped open and he sat up immediately. Rodolphus closed the parlour door and stepped in, then leaned against the door. He looked drawn and nervous, but the corners of his mouth turned up when he looked at Rabastan. At least he was trying to smile.

Rabastan stood and reached out, and Rodolphus pulled him up against him, into a tight embrace.

"Andromeda's gone," he murmured. "The party's over. Why don't you come up to bed?"

Rabastan was more than willing. The manor was eerily silent now that everyone had gone, and the candelabras and moonlight outside cast the corridors in an eerie, flickering light that made shivers run down Rabastan's spine, but he followed his brother upstairs without hesitation. Only when they reached the door of Rodolphus and Bellatrix's bedroom and Rodolphus stepped in did Rabastan hesitate.

"Where's Bellatrix?"

"Out." Rodolphus pulled him in and sank onto the bed, letting him straddle him. "She's gone out. With friends, I think." He ran a hand down his back, and Rabastan moaned quietly and rubbed himself closer against his brother. "She said she'd be out all night."

"She did?" It was more than he could have hoped for. He had expected hushed if passionate lovemaking in the parlour or a spare bedroom, but if Bellatrix was gone, they could spend the whole night in Rodolphus's bedroom, and they wouldn't have to worry about being quiet or getting caught for a moment of it.

"Yes…" Rodolphus looked down, his eyebrows drawing together slightly. "I would have thought that she'd want to spend the night of her birthday with her husband…"

Rabastan could feel himself blushing. "Did you want to spend the night with her instead? Would you rather be in bed with her?"

"Rab, she's my wife!" Rodolphus pulled back, looking hurt.

"And I'm your brother," Rabastan finished for him. Even to himself, he sounded bitter and sulky when he added, "and who would rather go to bed with their brother than their wife?"

"Don't be like that, Rab…"

"I'm glad she went out with her friends." Rabastan leaned over him, and gripped his shoulder, then brushed his teeth lightly against his neck. "This way, you don't have to go to bed with her – I want you and she doesn't. And you don't _really_…" He kissed him hard, and rested his forehead against his to whisper, "You don't _really_ want her, do you? What would you want with a woman like her?"

"Don't!" Rodolphus's voice turned suddenly sharp. "I _enjoy_ going to bed with her, you know! And what's that supposed to mean, 'a woman like her'? She's a _beautiful_ woman, that's what she is; what do you expect from me? You don't expect me to want her? For God's sake, Rab, I'm not a fucking queer!"

Rabastan felt like he had been hit in the stomach.

"Is that what you think I am?" he hissed. "'A fucking queer'?"

"Oh- oh Rab…" Rodolphus's voice went quiet. "I didn't mean that – you know I didn't mean that."

"And how can you say you're not when you've got me sitting on your lap like this?" He shifted even closer against him until he could feel his heartbeat, feel his cock beneath his trousers, and see the way the muscles around his mouth worked as he pressed his lips together tightly. "You're not a fucking queer, but you like having me on top of you."

"It's only for you," he mumbled. "It's only because I love _you_, Rab; I wouldn't be this way for any other man."

"Like Hell you wouldn't." Rabastan kissed his brother hard before he could protest, and pushed him back onto the bed. "Don't you like it, Rod? Don't you like having a man on top of you?"

"No, I like having _you_ on top of me."

"Liar," Rabastan hissed through his teeth. Anger was twisting his stomach, but more than that, he was dizzy with the feeling of having his brother all to himself, without Bellatrix in the way, and having power over him, even if it was only a little. "Don't you enjoy me more than Bellatrix?"

"Because I love you, not because you're a man!"

"So do you only want Bellatrix because she's a woman, then?" Rabastan softened his tone a little as he popped the buttons of Rodolphus's shirt open. "Do you not really love her?"

Rodolphus's voice shook a little. "It's different."

"I don't think it's all that different." He was working on his trousers now, and Rodolphus groaned a little. "I think you just want me more than you want her, and you're scared to admit that, because you don't want to be _a fucking queer_."

"You're being so unfair."

Rabastan broke off. His hands were shaking and sweaty, and he looked down at his half-undressed brother, breathing heavily.

"I just hate thinking of you and her. I hate that you want her."

Rodolphus seemed hesitant for a moment, but then he reached up and pulled Rabastan flat against him.

"I love you, Rab," he whispered, and he sounded hurt. "Don't you believe me?"

"I–" Rabastan swallowed, all the anger and all the sense of power draining away at once, leaving him feeling empty and weak. "Of- of course I do."

"Then stop talking about Bellatrix and stop comparing how I feel about her to how I feel about you," he said, a little more firmly, and he moved his hand down Rabastan's back and slid it beneath the waistband of his trousers. "If I didn't want you, you wouldn't be here."

Rabastan found that all he could do was nod and make a small noise of assent, and he was relieved when Rodolphus kissed his lips and he was no longer expected to say anything.

Rodolphus was steadier, more confident than he had been last time, and that gave Rabastan confidence as well. It was so _satisfying_, such a pleasure to have his brother underneath him and moaning for him, even if thoughts of Bellatrix hovered at the back of his mind. He could feel his brother's strong thighs clenching on either side of him and feel moans rumbling in his chest, and he loved the way he could feel him tense and jerk in response to every thrust he gave, and just as he was nearing the edge, just as he was about to whisper as much to his brother, a stabbing, burning pain shot through his arm.

Rabastan cried out, jerking back and clutching his arm.

"Rab!" Rodolphus sounded equal parts horrified and frustrated, and Rabastan felt his brother's hands scrabbling at him. "Rab, what's the matter; did I hurt you?"

"N- no- it's the Dark Mark." Tears were coming to Rabastan's eyes, and the longer he waited, the more intense the pain got. He scrambled up, grabbing for his dress robes from where he had discarded them.

"Can't it wait?" Rabastan didn't think he had ever heard his brother plead like that before, but plead he did. "Please, Rab, you can't go running off – I need you…"

"I have to." He ached, and he wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed beside his brother, but the pain in his arm was overwhelming. He glanced down briefly, then looked away, sickened. The fine black scars of the Dark Mark were swollen and red, angry as they had been when they were first burned.

"Please hurry back," Rodolphus pleaded, and Rabastan nodded, barely blinking back tears, then Disapparated.

The pain disappeared the moment Rabastan set foot inside the Dark Lord's building, but he didn't take time to savour it, instead practically sprinting up the stairs towards his flat. His robes were probably not done up correctly, and he felt dizzy and sick, but he didn't slow down, thinking only of Rodolphus, laying there in bed, frustrated and abandoned.

The door to the flat was closed, and Rabastan paused and listened at it briefly. He thought he could hear voices, mumbling indistinctly, but he couldn't be sure. When he touched the doorknob, he found it unlocked.

The front room was empty. Once inside, Rabastan could distinctly hear noises coming from the bedroom, but they weren't noises that seemed to indicate a meeting or emergency. They were soft, rhythmic thumps, and quiet, distinctly feminine moans.

Rabastan edged forward, heart hammering. He ought to leave, but he just couldn't bring himself to. The bedroom door was ajar, and Rabastan peered in.

There was the Dark Lord. Even from the back, Rabastan could recognize him, his bone-thin body working beneath the shirt and trousers that were clearly open. His narrow hips were moving back and forth quickly and roughly, and his heavy breathing was audible. But Rabastan's eyes travelled immediately past him, to the person pressed between him and the wall.

She was tall, almost as tall as the Dark Lord himself, for she had one foot just barely touching the ground for balance. The other leg was locked around the Dark Lord's waist. Her skirt was hitched up around her hips, and the front of the bodice lowered to show off pale breasts. The Dark Lord had his hand on one breast, while the other pinned her arm above her head, and his fingers were just inches from a raw, glistening Dark Mark. She had her head bent, kissing his neck and jaw, and her face was obscured by her mass of black curls, but Rabastan didn't need to see her face.

But he did see her face.

Bellatrix raised her head, and she looked him directly in the eye as she moaned, "Oh, Master, that feels _so_ good."


	50. Chapter 50

Rabastan pressed his hand swiftly over his mouth to silence the horrified gasp that he couldn't help letting out. Bellatrix had said that she was having an affair with the Dark Lord, yes, and he had hardly denied it, true, but _seeing_ them, seeing _Bellatrix_…

His eyes were drawn to the Dark Mark on her arm – perhaps because it was less painful to look at that than to look at her leg around _his_ lover's waist. The burns around the thin, black lines were still red and blistered. Rabastan reached down and gripped his own forearm instinctively, running his thumb over the scarred lines of his Mark through the fabric of his robes. His skin still smarted from when the Mark had burned just moments before.

Bellatrix was watching him. She had her head up now, her chin resting on the Dark Lord's shoulder, and a wicked smile curved her lips.

"Harder, Master."

The Dark Lord quickened his rhythm, and _oh_, Rabastan had to struggle not to think about how he would have liked to be in Bellatrix's place. She moaned theatrically, never breaking eye contact.

Rabastan felt sick to his stomach. He wanted to interrupt, but he couldn't even draw breath, much less form words, and he could feel hot tears prickling the backs of his eyes. It was almost unbearable to see the way Bellatrix and the Dark Lord – the Dark Lord, _his_ lover – writhed together, how she moaned for him, how engrossed he seemed in the act of kissing her and embracing her and _taking_ her. And yet, for how unbearable it was, he was unable to look away.

The Dark Lord moaned and shuddered. Did he look and sound like that when he climaxed with Rabastan? Or was that split-second of vulnerability with his release something that only Bellatrix was privy to? There was a look of absolute bliss on her face, an almost beatific smile as she continued to stare at Rabastan, and her thoughts were clear. _I please him. I please him more than you do_.

"Bella…" he murmured, and _oh, God_, it was much too intimate. Rabastan felt like crying. He also felt like throwing something at both of them, or like cursing them until they quivered on the floor like Druella had…

He couldn't do it. He couldn't stand here and watch them. Clearly, the Dark Lord didn't intend for him to be here – Rabastan wasn't sure how the Dark Mark worked, exactly, but surely there was room for error, because the Dark Lord couldn't – _couldn't_ – have meant for him to see this.

Bellatrix had one arm resting around the Dark Lord's shoulders, and she lifted her fingers and wiggled them at Rabastan as he backed away – a mocking, juvenile gesture. He resisted the urge to gesture obscenely at her – she'd probably like it.

Rodolphus was still in bed when he returned, and Rabastan barely stepped into the room before Rodolphus was pulling him back onto the mattress.

"I didn't expect you back so soon," he murmured, tugging at his robes. "It's poor form to go running off in the middle of making love, you know."

"Sorry." Rabastan's voice cracked, and if Rodolphus noticed, he didn't comment. Rabastan couldn't remember the last time he had wanted so _little_ to kiss his brother, but kiss him he did, and Rodolphus had him undressed and between his legs in a matter of seconds.

"You had me so frustrated," Rodolphus whispered huskily between heated kisses. "I thought he'd need you for hours – I worried you'd finish off with him…"

"Please." It was all he could do not to cry. "Please- don't- let's just–"

"Oh, of course, of course…"

Rabastan tried to muster the enthusiasm he had had before. He _wanted_ to be good for Rodolphus, to please him, but with every stroke, all he could think of was the Dark Lord, taking Bellatrix against the wall.

_Filthy, filthy slut, filthy whore, how could she…_

It must only have been a few minutes from the time Rabastan got into the bed again and the time he finished, but it felt like several agonizing hours, and when it was finally over, and Rodolphus rolled him onto his side and curled against him, Rabastan finally started to cry.

"Rab?" Rodolphus's voice was soft, hazy and sleepy at first, but it went quite alert and urgent when Rabastan didn't answer. "Rab, what's the matter? Why are you crying?"

"I- I–" He gulped, trying to force words out at the same time that he tried to think what to say. "It's the Dark Lord…"

"What? What about him?" When Rabastan didn't respond immediately, Rodolphus turned him over to face him and shook him. "_What about him, Rab?_ Did he threaten you? Did- did he hurt you?" The look of fear on Rodolphus's face shocked him, and he shook his head hurriedly.

"Nothing like that…"

"Then what? _What_?"

"He was–" Rabastan gulped. _He didn't want to tell_. But Rodolphus's panicked expression told him that he needed to know. "I- saw them. He- was- with _her_…"

The blood drained from Rodolphus's face.

"With…"

"Bellatrix." He swallowed, fresh tears stinging his eyes – _God, he felt stupid, crying over what he should already have known to be true_. "He was with Bellatrix. _With_ her," he added, emphasising _with_ in an attempt to convey what they had been doing without actually having to say it.

Rodolphus slumped back against the pillows and let out a long, low sigh, then pulled Rabastan gently against him. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Rab."

"It's not your fault," he sniffed.

"Maybe if I was a better husband–"

"She doesn't deserve you!" Rabastan's voice rose a few notes, almost hysterically. "She- she doesn't deserve you _or_ him!"

Rodolphus fell silent, but held Rabastan gently against him, stroking his hair slowly. Then, after several long moments, he quietly said, "You'd hate me if I told you what I was thinking right now."

"I wouldn't hate you for anything," Rabastan mumbled, his throat choked with tears.

Rodolphus hesitated, his hand going still on Rabastan's head, then he said, "I'm glad you saw. I'm glad you- you saw them together."

"What?" Rabastan's head jerked up and he stared at his brother, appalled. "How- how can you say that?"

"I don't say it because I want you to be hurt, Rab! It's just…" Rodolphus caught his wrist in his hand and squeezed it gently, his fingers brushing against the lines of the Dark Mark. "I don't like to think of you being involved with him."

"What are you talking about?"

"Rab, he's teaching you _Unforgivable Curses_." His voice was low and urgent. "Teaching you how to _use_ them! If you got caught…"

"I won't get caught."

"You can't know that!" He tightened his grip and Rabastan winced. "All it would take would be one person to tell… and you'd be sent straight to Azkaban, and there wouldn't be anything anyone could do about it. There wouldn't be anything that _I_ could do about it."

Rabastan didn't say anything, and after a moment's tense silence, Rodolphus continued. "And it's not just that. Rab… Rab, you _have_ read the things the Daily Prophet reports about him, haven't you? You know the sorts of things he's done…"

"Don't tell me _you're_ starting to sympathize with Mudbloods and Muggles too?" Andromeda was a woman, and a woman in a weak mental state at that; Rabastan could excuse such foolishness from her, but the thought of his own _brother_ having sympathy for those savages, those barbarians, those _animals_…

"No! I don't give a damn what he does to them – they have it coming, we both know! He's got the right idea about them. I mean what he does to his _followers_."

Rodolphus trailed off, and Rabastan felt a slight twist in his stomach.

"What do you mean, what he does to his followers?"

"It's in the papers if you look for it," Rodolphus said quietly. "I've been reading – I've been paying attention for your sake. Every so often, someone comes out and calls themselves a Death Eater in public and the paper prints it, sometimes with a few other things they share about _him_ or about what the Death Eaters do… and a few days later, there's a death report."

Rabastan swallowed.

"Coincidences."

"If it happened once, maybe. Maybe even two or three times. But Rab, it's happened _over and over again_."

"Well." Rabastan's voice shook horribly, and he swallowed and tried to keep it steady. "Well, we aren't supposed to go spreading information about him, obviously. I know not to go talking to the papers. That's just good common sense…"

"And what if he decides that there are other reasons to kill a Death Eater? Who would stop him if he decided that he didn't want you anymore?"

"Why wouldn't he?"

"I'm just asking, Rab! Do you really understand what you're getting mixed up in?"

Rabastan sat up. His heart was beating fast, so fast that the rush of blood was making him dizzy.

"I know exactly what I'm _getting mixed up in_," he said, and took great care to speak confidently, even if he didn't feel confident at all. "What does it matter if he disposes of people he doesn't think are useful anymore? I'll just never give him any reason not to think I'm useful."

"And how do you plan to do that?"

The unspoken addition hung between them. _How do you plan to do that when you can't even keep him as a faithful lover?_

Rabastan looked down at his arm so he wouldn't have to meet his brother's eyes. The skull grinned back up at him, almost mockingly, almost like Bellatrix had grinned.

"I just want you to be safe."

"I know."

"And I'm afraid I won't be able to protect you from him."

Rabastan said nothing.

"I don't suppose you can get out now," Rodolphus said, and he reached over and touched Rabastan's Mark. "Not even after what you saw."

"No. I can't."

Rodolphus fell silent and sank back onto the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. Rabastan lay beside him, and he put his arm around his shoulders and held him close. Neither of them said anything, and Rabastan eventually drifted to sleep in his brother's arms. When he woke up, Rodolphus's eyes were already open, and he was still staring at the same spot on the ceiling, as if he had never fallen asleep or moved all night long.


	51. Chapter 51

"You two make such a sweet couple."

Rabastan, who had been lying still and silent in his brother's arms and watching a faint line of sunlight appear on the horizon, winced at the sound of Bellatrix's voice. He didn't turn over to face her. He didn't think he could look at her without seeing the way she had smiled at him over the Dark Lord's shoulder while he…

"I see you finally made it back," Rodolphus said flatly, and Rabastan felt his brother's fingers tighten a little on his arm.

"I told you I would be out all night."

"You didn't tell me you'd be with the Dark Lord."

"I take it your brother did." Rabastan felt the mattress shift under him as she sat down. "But why should that bother you? It meant you got to spend the whole night with your dear brother… and it looks as if you two had a perfectly good time."

Rodolphus sat up abruptly, dislodging Rabastan. His face was flushed and he was shaking visibly.

"Go home, Rab," he said.

"But–"

"I said to go home!" Rodolphus had never spoken so harshly before, but Rabastan knew him well enough to hear a trace of tearfulness in his voice. "I want to talk to my wife _alone_."

"Poor Rab, cast out as soon as I come home," Bellatrix crooned, and Rodolphus slapped her. Rabastan reeled, shocked, and practically tumbled out of bed. Bellatrix clutched her cheek where Rodolphus had hit.

"How _dare_ you!"

"Rabastan, go _home_," Rodolphus ordered, and Rabastan scrambled for his robes. His hands shook as he pulled them on, and he barely had them fastened even as he stumbled out the door.

He was only a few steps down the corridor when he heard a sharp crack of flesh against flesh, and he froze in place.

"Haven't I told you never to hit me?" Bellatrix's voice was low and dangerous, and Rabastan – against his better judgement, and contrary also to how he had learned to take Rodolphus's orders – crept back to the door and stooped to look through the keyhole.

Rodolphus's cheek bore an angry red mark to match the one on Bellatrix's, and Bellatrix was half on top of him, pinning him to the bed.

"I think an exception can be made when you're out- _whoring_ yourself out to the Dark Lord!"

"It's a bit rich of you to say that when you're in bed with your brother, don't you think?"

"It's different!"

"Yes, I suppose it is." Bellatrix leaned over him, and her hair obscured her face from Rabastan's view. "For one thing, unlike myself, you don't need to go to someone else just to get off. If I were as inadequate a lover to you as you are to me, I might have been able to forgive you."

Rodolphus flinched visibly, and his hands curled into fists in the sheets.

"And for another," she continued, and she sounded so _smug_ that it was quite sickening, "I didn't go to the Dark Lord tonight just to go to bed with him."

"Oh, didn't you? It was all perfectly innocent, was it?" Rodolphus spat. "Do you honestly expect me to believe that?"

"It's the truth. He, ah… had something for me."

"Oh, I don't doubt he had _something…_"

"Don't be vulgar, love."

"_I_ shouldn't be vulgar? How are _you_ acting?"

"I'm trying to give you good news, Rod – don't go interrupting."

"There's good news?" Rodolphus spluttered, and he struggled against her, his face turning positively crimson. "You tell me there's good news when you come home after spending the night with your lover – who also _happens_ to be _Rabastan's_ lover, as a matter of fact–"

"Well, he's not being faithful to him, is he? I may be married, but Rabastan is married _and_ has you – it's a bit greedy of him to want the Dark Lord as well, don't you think?"

Rabastan swallowed hard. A lump was forming in his throat. Part of him wanted to throw the door open and scream that _no, it's not greedy, and how dare she criticise his behaviour_, but he restrained himself.

And there was a whisper in the back of his mind too – _she does have a point_…

"In any case," Bellatrix continued, in her infuriating, self-satisfied, sugar-sweet voice, "I went to the Dark Lord to take the Dark Mark."

Rodolphus stopped struggling immediately. He went limp underneath her, and Rabastan could see the flush draining from his face.

"You- you- what?"

Bellatrix pulled back her sleeve. Rabastan caught a glimpse of the raw red and black lines – just as he had seen last night, un-bandaged and proudly on display – and Rodolphus let out a weak little groan.

"Oh- Bella, _why_?"

The pet name made Rabastan cringe.

"I've wanted to serve him for years." Bellatrix sat back, and Rabastan could see her face again. There was a smile on her lips and she looked practically transported. "I thought he wouldn't have me, because I'm a woman… and then, it was Rabastan who gave me the idea of how to do it."

"W–" Rodolphus swallowed hard. "What are you talking about?"

"Well." She tossed her head and lifted one shoulder in a little shrug. "If he'll take that useless little prat just because he goes to bed with him–"

"Don't talk about him like that," Rodolphus interrupted, but his voice lacked conviction, and Bellatrix ignored it.

"He'll obviously take anyone who can get him off. It was just a matter of getting him to give me a chance… after a few nights, he was all too eager to have me in his ranks."

"_Slut_," Rodolphus hissed, but Bellatrix appeared quite unfazed by the slur.

"Call me whatever you want. I have everything I want and more, now – the Dark Mark, the Dark Lord, and a chance to fight on behalf of my blood. Do you think I care what _you_ think of my methods?"

"You should!" His voice rose again, almost to the point of sounding hysterical. "I'm your husband. I'm your _husband!_"

"Hush." She reached out and patted his cheek lightly, and he didn't even push her hand away. "There's no reason for you to be upset. You have your own lover, after all."

"I'd sooner have you."

Rabastan felt as if he'd been struck about the head. He clung to the doorframe, and when Bellatrix laughed, it echoed in his head until his ears pounded.

"Don't let your dear brother hear you saying that."

He was going to be sick. He could feel bile rising in his throat, and he put one hand over his mouth and swallowed it back even as he stumbled to his feet.

_How could Rodolphus say that, how could he?_

Rabastan fled away and down the stairs, barely managing to keep upright and not caring in the slightest about the noise he knew he was making. As soon as he was out the doors, he fell to his knees and vomited into the grass of the gardens.

He stayed on all fours, heaving, long after he'd spat up what little food was in his stomach, and the longer he knelt and coughed, the more hot tears gathered in his eyes.

How could Rodolphus say that, after he'd spent the night with Rabastan in his arms, after he'd made love to him – _after he had invited him into his bed_ – and knowing that Bellatrix was unfaithful? How _could_ he?

This was as bad as those long, painful months in which Rabastan had been aware of how he felt towards Rodolphus and had been unable to tell him. This was _worse_.

He couldn't mean it. It had been said in a moment of passion, a moment of anger. Rabastan simply _couldn't_ bring himself to believe that his brother, his own brother, his _lover_ would sooner have Bellatrix than him. Especially not when she had just made it so clear that she had no interest in him.

Damn her. _Damn_ _her!_

There was a small part of Rabastan – probably the same part that had concurred with Bellatrix' assessment of his greed – that knew it wasn't _entirely_ her fault that Rodolphus, at least, was so inexplicably devoted to her that he would suggest even for a moment that he'd rather have her than his brother. She would probably – no, she would _clearly_ – have wished for Rodolphus to be happy with his affair and leave her free to go to the Dark Lord's bed. She was probably as angry that Rodolphus said he would rather have her as Rabastan was.

But it was easier to blame her.

It was easier to think of her as the whore who had stolen away both the men Rabastan felt for – his brother, who he loved, and the Dark Lord, to whom he was devoted, than it was to think that she might be unhappy with the circumstance as well.

It was easier to hate her than to try to hate Rodolphus.


	52. Chapter 52

Rabastan dreaded the next week's meeting. He dreaded having to look at the Dark Lord and trying not to think about what he'd done to Bellatrix, and he dreaded Bellatrix herself being at the meeting. She might not be able to behave as shamelessly as she would undoubtedly want to with so many other men present, but he could still anticipate the effect her presence would have on the event. He could imagine the way she would smirk at him across the room, the way the Dark Lord might look at her, and it made him sick to his stomach.

It was almost a relief, therefore, that when he arrived at the Dark Lord's flat, Bellatrix didn't even spare him a glance. She was perched on the edge of the couch closest to the chair where the Dark Lord sat, and she didn't take her eyes off him when Rabastan stepped in. The intensity of the way she stared at him was eerie.

The Dark Lord, for his part, did no more or less to acknowledge Rabastan than he had at any of the recent meetings, nor did he particularly acknowledge Bellatrix, however long and lustfully she stared at him.

"Rabastan."

"My Lord." Rabastan inclined his head and took a seat on the opposite end of the couch, looking decidedly away from Bellatrix.

Other men filtered in slowly, and the flat filled up with familiar quiet mutterings. No one spoke to Rabastan. Of _course_ no one spoke to him; none of the men had ever spoken to him. He was young enough to be their son, after all.

"You will notice," the Dark Lord said, and a hush fell over the room immediately, "that we have a new member tonight."

Bellatrix straightened in her seat and looked around the room, a small, smug smile curving her lips, and how Rabastan wished that he dared to reach over and slap that smile off her face…

"Bellatrix Lestrange," he continued, "has taken the place of her father among our ranks. You will note that Cygnus Black is no longer present."

There was a fresh murmuring in the corners of the room as everyone glanced around to confirm, and this murmur held a touch of nervousness. _Taken his place_. _Would the Dark Lord replace the rest of them?_

"My Lord, with all due respect," one man spoke up, rather boldly, Rabastan thought, "surely Cygnus Black would be a far better Death Eater than his daughter. She is young and inexperienced… and a _woman_."

Bellatrix's cheeks went red and Rabastan felt a little rush of satisfaction, even as he cringed, remembering his own first meeting and how Cygnus had mocked him for being thin and weak. _But the Dark Lord had seen beyond that in him, and he saw nothing but womanliness in Bellatrix_.

"She is indeed a woman," the Dark Lord said, "and ordinarily, a woman would not be invited into our ranks, no, but Bellatrix Lestrange is a… singular woman. You will treat her with all the dignity you afforded her father."

You_ don't treat her with the dignity you afforded her father._

Rabastan ground his teeth together, wishing that he could say out loud half the things going through his mind. How loathsome, how hypocritical of the Dark Lord to sit there and act as if Bellatrix was just like any other Death Eater when he was bedding her. He was probably thinking about it at that very moment.

"Is there something you wish to say, Rabastan?" the Dark Lord asked, and Rabastan became aware that his mouth was twisted into a quite horrible grimace. He quickly relaxed his face and lowered his head.

"No, my Lord, nothing."

The Dark Lord said no more about Bellatrix. The meeting carried on as most did, with much discussion of the Ministry of Magic, of the Wizarding world's deplorable lack of honour for blood purity, a great number of enthusiastic but uncommitted plans to kill the Minister, and a hail of insults lobbied against Half-bloods and Mudbloods and Muggles. The talk was rarely scintillating, but that night, Rabastan found it exhausting to even try to listen to it. Frequently, he drifted into brief but intense fantasies, all of them about the Dark Lord, and all of them luridly imagining what he was imagining doing to Bellatrix. Only when he felt faint stirrings of arousal did he wrench himself out of the fantasies, and more than once, he saw the Dark Lord watching him afterwards, and he wondered whether he knew what he had been thinking.

Bellatrix was not hesitant to speak, and every word she said grated on Rabastan. He wanted to snap at her – no, he wanted to snap her neck.

When the meeting was finally, _mercifully_ over, as the men were beginning to filter out and Rabastan rose to follow them, the Dark Lord called out, "Rabastan, Bellatrix, stay a moment."

_Damn it._

Rabastan sank back down onto the couch, and Bellatrix smiled a bright, cruel smile at him.

_Damn her_.

The Dark Lord looked at neither of them. He watched the door as the men filtered out – pointedly glaring at the few who seemed eager to linger and listen in on what the Dark Lord had to say to his two newest, youngest Death Eaters – and when they were finally gone, he rose and shut the door.

"You sulk, Rabastan," he said, and Bellatrix let out a little giggle, but fell quickly silent when he looked at her.

"I'm not sulking, my Lord," Rabastan said, much though he knew that he was.

"You are indeed sulking. You sulk, you lie, and you spend meetings thinking about your dear sister-in-law and myself in bed."

Bellatrix giggled again, and this time, the Dark Lord did nothing to reprove her. Rabastan's cheeks burned.

"Was he, my Lord?" Bellatrix asked, a touch breathlessly. "Was he thinking of us?"

"Oh, he certainly was. And quite shameful little fantasies they were, too."

"It isn't my fault!" Rabastan burst out. Even to himself, he sounded like an ill-tempered child, but he couldn't restrain himself. "What am I meant to think? I know what you two are doing – I _saw you!_"

"Is that intended to shame or humiliate us?" The Dark Lord seemed quite unperturbed. "Do you expect me to deny it?"

"Well- you should!"

"At last count, you have bedded two people besides myself, and you married one of those two. Does it not strike you as a touch ironic that you are lecturing me about fidelity?"

It was the same argument that Bellatrix had made, and it made Rabastan want to scream. He could not scream – not at the Dark Lord, not _ever_ – and he changed his course. "What are you doing with her in any case? I thought you fancied men–"

"I _fancy_ no one, regardless of gender."

Rabastan sputtered, and he could feel tears stinging the backs of his eyes. "You're supposed to be my- my lover!"

"Am I?" His voice suddenly hardened. "I did not realize you had the authority, Rabastan Lestrange, to tell me what I am supposed to be. When did I grant you that privilege?"

"I- I–" _Oh_, but it was hard to think with Bellatrix sitting there, watching them, with such obvious glee on her face.

"I think that you have misunderstood a fundamental aspect of our relationship, so let me explain it as simply as I can," he said, biting off each word sharply. "You are a Death Eater now. You are not my lover. You are not my friend. You are, for all intents and purposes, my slave. When you took the Dark Mark, you confirmed that you belong to me. I take you to bed when it pleases me, and I shall take others to bed when it pleases me to do that. You have no right to argue or protest. A slave does not protest his master's treatment."

Rabastan was speechless. He had never expected the Dark Lord to speak to him so harshly or to devalue him so much – calling him a _slave_, and practically saying that he had no autonomy…

"Do- do you no longer desire me, then, my Lord?" he asked hoarsely. It was all he could think to say."

"When I desire you, I shall tell you so, and when I do, you shall come to my bed willingly. Which is what Bellatrix does, I might add."

"Always, Master," Bellatrix put in, in that same foolish, awestruck whisper. The Dark Lord spared her a small smile, the sort one might give to a well-trained pet.

"Until that is the case," he continued, looking back to Rabastan, "I suggest that you go off to one of your other lovers and await my orders."

By his tone, it was clear that it was not a suggestion, and that Rabastan could not argue.

"My Lord," he said, and though he tried to say it with scorn and vitriol – for that was what he was feeling – he could only manage a dejected sort of sigh.

"Good night, Rabastan," Bellatrix purred, and Rabastan was not even out of the room before the Dark Lord sank onto the couch and Bellatrix all but pounced on him.


	53. Chapter 53

When Rabastan arrived home, he found Andromeda waiting for him in the kitchen with a bottle of wine. Her eyes were shadowed, and she was resting her hand on the swell of her stomach.

"You've been coming home awfully early recently," she commented, and though her voice was perhaps a little strained, she didn't sound angry so much as tired. "You haven't been spending nights with the Dark Lord in… I don't know how long."

"How observant of you to notice," Rabastan said shortly.

If she noticed how sharp he was being, she didn't react, except to take another sip of her wine. "Why not?"

"It isn't any of your business."

"As your wife, I rather think it is."

"No, it isn't!" He didn't bother trying to conceal his irritation. "I don't understand why you should care that I'm _not_ spending every night with someone else. Shouldn't you be pleased?"

"Why would I be pleased?" She took another deep sip from the wine bottle, then leaned back in her chair and looked up at him. Her face was expressionless, with only the slight tilt in her eyebrows to indicate that she felt anything at all. "I'd sooner that you were with him than that you were here."

"That's not a very wifely thing to say."

"From a traditional perspective, putting a husband's desires in front of one's own has always been a very wifely thing to do." Andromeda drained the wine bottle and set it on the table.

"This isn't exactly a matter of putting your desires aside."

"No, that's true." She stood up, swaying a little. "Then don't think of it as a question asked by your wife. Think of it as a question asked out of curiosity by a friend you've had since you were a child."

Rabastan ground his teeth together and looked away. "I can't stand it when you're drunk," he said, by way of deflecting the question."

"You'd like me even less if I weren't drunk, I assure you."

"Go to bed."

"Not until you tell me why you aren't spending nights with the Dark Lord anymore." Her jaw was set and her lower lip jutted out slightly.

"You're being childish." It was strange for Rabastan to be able to tell someone else that they were being childish – certainly a change from the ordinary order of things.

"Oh, am I?" She reached out and caught the front of his shirt, pulling him towards her slightly. He could smell the heavy, sour scent of wine on her breath, and it made him want to be sick.

"Just tell me," she said quietly, almost a whisper. "You've kept secrets from me before, and when has it ever gone right?"

_It only ever went wrong once you found out._

"Do you think I won't understand something?" she demanded. "Don't you think I would understand better than anyone else you knew – just like I've understood everything else about you?"

"Everything about me?" he asked, his lip curling. "Hardly."

"Everything except your proclivity for murder."

Rabastan pushed her away forcefully, and she stumbled and landed flat on her back on the ground. Immediately – and to his own frustration – Rabastan felt a pang of regret when he saw her lying there.

"I'm sorry," he said, offering her his hand, but she didn't take it and struggled to her feet again on her own.

"I just wanted to know," she whispered, and her voice was choked with tears now. "I thought you might want to tell me. I thought you might like to have someone who could commiserate with you."

Rabastan turned away from her, and against his better judgement, he heard himself spitting out, "It's your sister."

"Bellatrix?"

"The Dark Lord has- apparently- decided that he'd rather go to bed with her." It was all Rabastan could do to stop his voice from cracking. "I suppose it didn't help that he- found out about Rodolphus and me" he added, unwilling though he was to blame that.

"O- oh." Andromeda's voice dropped to a barely audible murmur. "Oh, Rabastan- I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"I know, but…"

To Rabastan's surprise, he felt Andromeda's hand brush against his elbow. When he turned to look at her, she had her head down, but the very fact that she was touching him seemed to indicate more intimacy than had ever passed between them before.

"What?" he asked.

"Well- I can just imagine how much it must trouble you…"

"It does."

"And when she already has your brother," Andromeda added, and Rabastan winced involuntarily, the memory of Rodolphus telling Bellatrix that he'd rather have her coming back with painful clarity.

"What is it?"

"Nothing."

Andromeda didn't say anything more, but after a few moments, she moved even closer to him, and before he knew what was happening, she had her arms draped around his shoulders and she was resting against him.

He couldn't strictly call it an embrace, but she held onto him gently, and the smell of the wine on her breath somehow didn't seem quite so bad anymore. After a few long and rather tense moments, Rabastan put his arms awkwardly around her waist. He wasn't sure that he wanted to touch her – and for the life of him, he couldn't imagine why _she_ would want to touch _him_ – but touch him she did, and he found himself rocking her gently back and forth, more of a comfort to himself than to her.

"I don't know why she was ever so interested in him," Andromeda mumbled into his shoulder. "I think she wanted to be a Death Eater, but he'd never…"

"He has taken her," Rabastan said bitterly, before Andromeda could even finish, and she straightened up and stared at him with a look of horror.

"He has? She- she's a Death Eater?"

He nodded. Her Dark Mark was burned as clearly into his memory as it was onto her skin.

"But- but she's- she's a woman! What would he want with her?"

"The same thing he wanted with someone as sick as me, I suppose."

"I- I thought…" Andromeda was trembling all over, and she wrung her hands together. "I thought that she'd- that he wouldn't- I thought that he'd turn her away and she'd be safe… she wouldn't really get involved…"

"Well, you were wrong, then, weren't you?"

"I- I can't believe… after all the things that Father told her he said about women…"

"She seduced him," Rabastan said, struggling to force the words out. "That's all there is to it – she seduced him and- and he let her have the Dark Mark because of it."

"Probably," Andromeda said, and she sounded every bit as bitter as Rabastan felt. "I wouldn't put it past her. But I was so _sure_ that he wouldn't… that he'd turn her away…"

"Clearly that wasn't the case."

"And I thought- I thought she'd give it up," Andromeda continued, so quietly that Rabastan wasn't even sure that she was aware that he could still hear her. "I thought she'd grow out of it- that she wouldn't ever _really_ want to do the things that he…"

"That he what?"

She looked up at him, and her eyes flicked to his arm. "The things that he orders from his Death Eaters. Don't pretend like he doesn't want horrible things from you."

"I can think of much more horrible things than trying to cleanse the Pureblood–"

"Oh, don't start on that again!" Andromeda interrupted, clutching her head with both hands. "I don't care if you want to believe that there's actually something honourable about killing people–"

"_Muggles_."

"Whatever you want to call them! I don't want my sister doing it!"

As quickly as it had come, the moment of mutual understanding between them disappeared, and Rabastan's stomach knotted with the suppressed anger he felt at her. She just didn't _understand_. She didn't care about Bellatrix going to bed with the Dark Lord because it was breaking Rabastan's heart, she cared because it infringed on her warped sense of morality.

"There's something wrong with you," he told her, backing away from her towards the door. "If that's all you care about…"

"_All I care about!_ That's quite a way to talk about me- caring about people _dying_- when all that matters to _you_ is your lover! And- to think- to think I was _sad_ for _you_- you make me sick, Rabastan!"

"You make _me_ sick," he spat back. "You don't understand anything, do you? You- and the things you say about Mudbloods and Muggles- if you care about them so much, why didn't you just marry one?"

"I would if I could have!"

Rabastan recoiled. He _knew_ she was only saying it out of anger, only because she knew it would upset him, but the very thought that she would even _consider_ it…

"I really do think that you're out of your mind sometimes," he hissed at her, and fled the kitchen, his heart pounding in his throat.


	54. Chapter 54

Autumn faded into winter, and before Rabastan knew it, there was a blanket of snow on the ground outside and an inescapable frosty chill in the air. Andromeda spent most of her time in the parlour, next to the fire, stroking her stomach and staring pensively into the flames – how she managed to sit there for hours on end, Rabastan didn't know. He found himself restless in ways that he had never been before, sitting down in one room only to find himself standing and pacing to another within minutes. When he was idle for more than a few moments, unpleasant thoughts crept into his mind – thoughts about his brother, or his wife, or his master, or any number of other people he would rather not be thinking about. He slept poorly at night and so was almost always tired and dizzy during the day, and his appetite, always meagre, disappeared altogether. Only once in every few days could he manage to choke down a few bites of food, and more than once, he ended up on his knees and coughing them back up within the hour.

Never before had Rabastan so desperately wanted his brother's companionship, and not since the days immediately following his marriage had he felt his absence so acutely. As recently as last winter, Rabastan had been able to creep into Rodolphus's bedroom when he couldn't sleep, and Rodolphus had always sleepily opened his arms and let Rabastan curl against him. Now, Rodolphus shared his bed with Bellatrix – in another house, where Rabastan was not welcome – and even if Rabastan had had the opportunity, if he got into bed with his brother, he would have undoubtedly ended up doing everything _but_ sleeping.

He yearned for someone to talk to, for some form of companionship. Endless days spent doing nothing but avoiding thinking about people and wishing that time would pass more quickly dragged out so that every day felt like weeks.

He managed to endure it until the beginning of December, but by then, he was bored with every room in the manor, and sick with pent-up frustration. The dull, fire-lit interiors were beginning to turn his stomach independent of the food he ate, and as big as the manor was, he constantly felt claustrophobic.

It was almost midnight on the second of December when he lost all patience.

Andromeda was still in the parlour, despite the late hour, and she turned and looked at Rabastan when he stormed past the door.

"Isn't it a bit late?" she asked.

"No," Rabastan snapped. "I'm going out."

"You'll freeze to death."

"As if you care." He hurried down the stairs and grabbed his cloak, and slammed the door behind him without even bothering to lock it.

The weather outside was bitterly cold, and it was also terribly dark, for there were clouds covering the stars, but just being out of the house was a relief. Rabastan breathed deeply, despite how the air stung his lips and nostrils. He pulled his cloak tightly around his shoulders and pushed through the gates, and barely had they swung shut behind him when he heard a whisper.

"Is that you, Dro- oh."

Rabastan had his wand out in a moment. "_Lumos!_" Light flooded the area, gleaming off the bright white snow, and a figure stepped out of the shadows, his arm thrown up to cover his face. He was wearing a shabby, oversized coat, his hair was, Rabastan thought critically, far too long, and he squinted at Rabastan in the sudden light.

"Who are you?" Rabastan demanded. He didn't recognize the man, and he had been standing right against the wall, right outside the manor – far closer than anyone should have been to their home, and far too close for comfort.

"Ted. Who are you?"

Rabastan ignored the question. He mentally scanned through the brief list of people who might have been invited to the manor, but he needn't have bothered; he didn't know any Ted, and besides, the man was clearly a Muggle. One could tell from his coat – so ugly, so bulky and so _clearly_ not a Wizarding garment. "What are you doing here?"

"What are _you_ doing here?"

"I live here!"

"Live here?"

"This!" Rabastan gestured at the manor. "This is my _home_, and you- how did you find it?"

The man – Ted – dropped his arm and ran his tongue slowly around his lips. His expression became wary and serious. "I was lost."

"Lost?" Rabastan lunged forward and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, and slammed him back against the wall. "People don't just get _lost_ and end up here. Who told you- who sent you?"

"No one. Lost." He blinked dazedly, and his jaw jutted out slightly, defiantly.

There was red around the corners of Rabastan's vision. He rammed his wand under Ted's jaw. "_Crucio!_"

Ted screamed and jolted, and despite the cold, Rabastan felt a familiar and pleasurable warmth in the pit of his stomach. He lowered his wand, and whispered, "You can tell me, or I can do that again."

"_I was lost!_" he repeated stubbornly. He must have been very stupid, because anyone with half a brain would have changed their story after a bit of torture. Not that Rabastan minded terribly. He pressed himself closer against him so he could feel his every movement, and whispered, "_Crucio_."

Ted screamed again, louder this time, and he lashed out against Rabastan, which only excited him.

"Muggles don't have any right to be here," he snarled, and Ted let out a strangled sob.

"Don't- what are you talking- let _go_ of me!"

"Who told you to come here? Do you want me to use the spell again?"

"Get off!"

"Oh, I will." Rabastan knotted his hand tightly in his shirt and slammed him back against the wall again. "But first, tell me how you found my home."

"I didn't know it was your home!"

"_Crucio!_" The longer this went on, the less Rabastan cared about what the Muggle was doing near his home, and the more he cared about the sound of his screaming and the way he writhed. He smoothed his hand over his chest and let out a soft, almost involuntary purr.

Ted went stiff.

"What- what are you doing?" he whispered, and the fear in his voice made Rabastan ache.

"What were you even doing… out… at this late hour?" he murmured. "Surely you should be at home, in bed…"

"I- I was going to meet someone- please, let me go!" The softness of Rabastan's voice seemed to have kindled some hope of mercy. "I'll never come back, I swear, I'll never tell anyone–"

"Shut up." Rabastan jabbed his wand into the Muggle's collarbone. "_Crucio!_"

He held the curse for as long as he could, enjoying the spasms that ran through his body. Ted had scraped his hands bloody against the wall and screamed himself hoarse before Rabastan moved his wand.

"Are you scared?" he murmured, and thrust hard against him. "Do you have any idea how much I can hurt you?"

"Let go- let go–" was all he could stammer out. Rabastan pushed him down into the snow, where his blood dotted the clean white, and he didn't even try to push Rabastan away when he straddled him.

"Muggles shouldn't trespass in Pureblood's homes. You have no right. You _filth!_" _Filth_ came out in a groan and he rolled his hips against his. "I could kill you right now. I _should_ kill you!"

"What the Hell are you on?" he screamed as he thrashed wildly. Tears were beginning to spill down his cheeks, and _oh_, the sight of this man – a stranger – crying, all because of _him_, was release like Rabastan had not had it in months.

"_Crucio!_" he snarled one more time, and the way the Muggle arched his back for him was enough. Rabastan didn't bother trying to disguise his moans, only rutted desperately against his body until he was spent, then slumped over him, holding his wrists in place against the ground – as if Ted, who was sobbing and whimpering unintelligibly, would do anything to fight him now.

Rabastan took a few moments to catch his breath, and to enjoy the way the Muggle was shuddering and shivering and so _clearly_ trying not to sob, then he lifted his wand once more and slashed it through the air.

Ted screamed at the new, sharp pain, and Rabastan watched blood pool along his arms and spill out, staining the snow like ink spilled on paper. He heaved himself to his feet and stepped back to admire the full effect. Ted scrabbled at the wound cut through his chest – not deep enough to kill instantly, but too deep to hope to survive, and let out a string of garbled pleas and profanity. Rabastan watched him, quite pleased with the effect.

But the cold was beginning to sting again, his trousers were damp – with snow and with his seed – and who knew how long the Muggle would last? Maybe a whole hour, if he was lucky.

And so Rabastan left him lying there, and went back inside with a clear head and steady heartbeat. He did not feel guilty. He felt cleansed. He felt powerful. He felt that he had control.

Had he glanced behind him when he reached the doors of the manor, or out the window when he went inside, he would have seen Ted reaching into his pocket for something, and if he had continued to watch, he would have seen him withdrawing a stick from inside his Muggle coat.

And if Rabastan had gone out the next morning, he would have seen no footprints leading away from the great red stain in the snow, but he would also have seen no body.


	55. Chapter 55

Rabastan did not go outside the next morning. The sun had dawned dazzlingly bright, and enough snow had fallen that his footprints from the night before were entirely obscured. He glanced out only briefly, and the thought of last night's Muggle's corpse hidden under fresh snow brought a smile to his face. _That_ was a Muggle put in its place. Buried and forgotten by the world. One less filthy animal taking up space and time. _Good_.

He hummed under his breath as he descended the stairs, intending to go down to the kitchen for a small meal, for, for the first time in months, he felt twinges of hunger in his stomach. It was a pleasant sensation – visceral and clear and easy to understand. It made him feel real and alive, as real and alive as the cold and the torture had made him feel last night.

Andromeda was in the foyer, pulling on a cloak.

"Andromeda?"

Andromeda started so badly that she lost her grip on the cloak, and it slithered from hr hands, knocking over one of the ornamental brass candlesticks from beside the door. She grabbed at it hurriedly, then glanced up at Rabastan, and her face looked drawn and nervous.

"You're up early," she said, sounding slightly shaky.

"I had a good night." It was not strictly untrue – his night _had_ been good, and he felt as revived as if he had slept for a week. If she believed that he meant he had slept well, that was her own error. "You don't look terribly well."

"I thought I could do with a walk."

"O- oh." Rabastan's stomach twisted briefly, but he hitched a smile back onto his face. After all, the odds were slim that she would find the body. And even if she did, he could and _would_ deny it. "Well. Enjoy your walk."

"Thank you." Andromeda fastened her cloak around her neck and tugged the hood up over her face, then moved to the door. "Oh!" she added, turning back and looking up at him, "Rodolphus sent a note – he said he wanted to talk to you, and he might be by later this afternoon."

"Good. Wonderful." What Rodolphus could have to say to him after such a long period of separation, Rabastan did not know, but the thought of seeing his brother still pleased him, and his smile was genuine.

Andromeda turned away again and tugged open the door. Rabastan shivered at the gust of cold air, and he thought she left it open a little longer than strictly necessary. When she closed the door behind her, he moved quickly to a window and peered out, watching her walk with strange briskness down the garden path and out through the gates. He waited, holding his breath and listening for the scream that would surely come if she saw a corpse, but when a minute passed, and then five, and then ten, and no sound was heard, he allowed himself to relax and step away from the window.

That brief panic averted, he turned his mind to the day ahead. _Rodolphus_. Just thinking of his brother taking the initiative to come and see him again made Rabastan's heart skip and his lips turn up into a smile of their own accord. He would be kind and loving, he counselled himself, but not over-affectionate. He would demonstrate to Rodolphus that he loved him dearly, that Rodolphus meant more to him than anyone or anything else, but he would not display the jealousy he had felt towards Bellatrix. Jealousy – _obvious_ jealousy, at least – would only make Rodolphus withdraw more, he suspected.

He would do everything he knew how to do to make Rodolphus love him as dearly as ever.

Rabastan's mind was filled with thoughts of his brother, and of the things he would say and the way he would say them when he was there that afternoon, and he drifted down to the kitchen with those things on his mind. The kitchen was empty – the house-elves had likely heard him coming and knew to make themselves scarce, he supposed; the house-elves knew that they were not to be seen unless they were called directly. The kitchen was warm, and a kettle was on the stove, whistling merrily. Rabastan helped himself to hot water from it, and a few pinches of tealeaves (he took his tea weak, and without milk or sugar), then broke a piece of bread off a still-warm loaf, scooped a fried egg from a pan onto a plate, and settled at the table. It was hardly what most people would have called a breakfast, but bread and tea was more – and more wholesome – than what he had taken over the last few days. His sparse meals recently had involved little more than mouthfuls of watery broth and the dregs of whatever alcohol Andromeda had not finished once or twice a day. Bread was, at least, something that he had to chew.

The egg was slimy and he had to swallow over and over to choke it down, but even it made him feel better. He felt _vital_, _powerful_, and feeling so much better than he had in his last listless weeks, his mind turned to vital, powerful subjects.

He could tell the Dark Lord about the Muggle he had killed. He would choose some moment when Bellatrix was not present, and he would tell him about how he had tortured and killed the Muggle, and the Dark Lord would be proud. And then, with his favour, Rabastan might finally be able to talk to him about Bellatrix, and about Rodolphus, and perhaps then, _finally_, if he was given a chance to explain, Rabastan would be able to regain his rightful place as the Dark Lord's new favourite. He moved his hand idly to his Mark, stroking the skin around the lines of the skull.

Rodolphus would not have to know about the Muggle's death, of course. This would have to be yet another thing that Rabastan would hide from his brother – but that was all for the best; he was only doing it for Rodolphus's own sake. In fact, no one should ever know about the Muggle, save for the Dark Lord himself. Even Bellatrix – who would surely not be offended by the murder of a Muggle – should be kept in the dark. It would be Rabastan's secret, shared only with his Master. Better that way.

He swallowed the last of the bread and egg, and sipped his tea idly, enjoying the feeling of a real _taste_ in his mouth. If he had known that an unplanned murder would make him feel so alive, he would have done it long ago! His lips quirked up slightly at the thought. What luck that Rodolphus was coming now, when Rabastan was in such an improved state. Much as he might have wished for his brother's companionship a few days ago, it was really for the best that Rodolphus would be seeing him like this. Rabastan would be able to fully enjoy his brother's companionship instead of simply clinging to him and fighting tears as he imagined he would have done if Rodolphus had visited before.

How _would_ he last the day with the excitement of his brother's visit on his mind? Rabastan already felt half-manic with excitement. Andromeda had said that he would be there in the afternoon – _hours_ away!

He finished his tea and stood, pacing the kitchen feverishly. Would Rodolphus want food or some other form of hospitality? Would he be willing to go to bed – should Rabastan prepare a room for them? Would he wish only to sit in the parlour and discuss whatever subject it was that had compelled him to say he would be there?

And what subject _was_ it? Rabastan chewed idly on his fingernail, pondering and wracking his mind. Perhaps it was something about Bellatrix – perhaps she had done something so unforgivable that Rodolphus was running to him, Rabastan, for comfort. The thought pleased him, but he dared not believe it. It would be _too_ perfect.

Perhaps nothing more troubling than plans for a Christmas party or something of that sort? But no, it must be something serious – a Christmas party would not have required an appointment; Rodolphus would simply have stopped by whenever it suited him. It must be something serious enough that Rodolphus had needed to convince himself to do it… that he was afraid he might avoid it if he did not say that he would be there at a certain time to discuss it…

The parlour would be the best place for any of this discussion, Rabastan decided. He would prepare it, make it welcoming and pleasing, so he and Rodolphus could sit there comfortably and discuss whatever what so serious that it had required a note ahead of time. He would make a point to lock the doors too, once Rodolphus was there, so that Andromeda would not wander in and interrupt…

Rabastan stood and walked briskly up the stairs to the parlour. He examined the lock – ensuring that it would hold if Andromeda turned the knob. When Rodolphus was there, Rabastan could put up a silencing spell, or use other magical measures to keep Andromeda away, if he felt the need, but he would sooner avoid it, if a simple lock would do.

There was dust on the mantle and the windowsills, Rabastan observed. The house-elves had been neglecting their duty – or perhaps they had simply not been able to do anything here when Andromeda was so constantly on the sofa, moping and staring into the fire. Never mind; Rabastan could deal with a little dust. He pulled out his handkerchief and brushed at the mantle, then moved to the windowsill, running the cloth over the smooth wooden sill.

He glanced idly out the window, which was touched at the corners by frost, but mostly clear, and his stomach lurched.

From this window he could see outside the manor walls. By the walls, just outside the gate, there was a brilliant crimson splash, red on stark white, like a great flower in the snow. Rabastan had to clap a hand over his mouth to stop himself from crying out in horror.

The snow had not covered it. His crime had not been concealed. And Andromeda – Andromeda _must_ have seen. She could not have missed it – he had seen her walking out those very gates, and when he squinted, he did not see her tracks in the snow any further than the red splash. In fact, he saw no sign of her whatsoever past the red.

Had she fainted at the sight? Oh, God, was she lying out there, slowly freezing, having been struck down by the shock?

Rabastan backed away from the window slowly, his heart in his throat and his hands and legs shaking. He had to go out, had to help her – and perhaps, if he brought her in, he could convince her that what she had seen was a hallucination and not truth…

But she was not out there, by the blood.

Rabastan turned around to run from the parlour, and she was standing in the doorway. Her face was as white as the snow. In her hands, she was clutching one of the candlesticks from beside the front door.

"Andromeda…"

"You _bastard_," she whispered. "You _monster_."

"Andromeda, I–"

But Rabastan didn't have time to say another word, for before _I_ had even left his lips, Andromeda had raised the candlestick and swung it like a beater's bat at his head.


	56. Chapter 56

Rabastan jumped backwards and avoided the worst of the blow, but the candlestick still caught him across his chest and he winced in pain. Moreover, he barely had time to draw another breath before Andromeda had raised it over her head and brought it down on his shoulder with all her strength.

Rabastan would have screamed if the force hadn't winded him. Andromeda took that opportunity to strike him on the chest again, directly this time. Her eyes were wide and wild.

"What- are you–" Rabastan gasped, struggling for air and doubling over, clutching his stomach.

"You're a _monster_," she repeated in a hiss. She hit his side and sent him sprawling on the ground. "How could I _ever_- let you _touch me!_" She raised the candlestick high above her head, and if he hadn't rolled out of the way, it would have come down squarely on his head.

"What are you talking about?" he managed. It _couldn't_ just be the Muggle – even Andromeda wouldn't act like _this_ over a Muggle. She hadn't done this when she heard that he tortured and killed a Muggle with the Dark Lord.

"_Ted!_" she screamed, and slammed the candlestick into Rabastan's stomach. He could practically hear his ribs cracking, much less _feel_ them. All the breath was knocked out of him, and the pain was so intense that he couldn't move. "What you _did_ to _Ted! _I'll kill you!"

"Ted…" Rabastan managed to wheeze. That had been the Muggle's name, hadn't it? But how had Andromeda known that? Did she _know_ him? "Muggle…"

"He wasn't a Muggle, you son of a _bitch!_" The candlestick cracked against his knee, and Rabastan wasn't sure if she had broken his leg, but for the horrifying pain, he wouldn't have been surprised. "Not that it _matters, _but he was a wizard! What do you think of that?"

Rabastan couldn't tell her what he thought. He couldn't even breathe, he could only whimper and try not to cry. It was a losing battle; tears were already leaking down his cheeks. He scrabbled at his pockets for his wand, but he couldn't make his fingers do what he wanted.

"You'd better be grateful that he's a wizard and he lived, or believe me, you'd regret this a lot more," Andromeda hissed, kicking him over onto his back. _Crack_, down on his left wrist. "If you'd killed him, oh, the things I'd do to you!" _Crack_, on his right wrist. "You're going to beg for mercy! You're going to beg for death!" _Crack, crack, crack_, one arm after the other, over and over again, until Rabastan was sure all the bones in his arms were in splinters. "You're going to beg to be _allowed_ to fry in Hell!"

"A- a–"

"I can't _believe_ I ever _thought you were worth anything!_" she screamed. "I used to be glad I'd married you! Can you _believe that? You're a monster, do you hear me, a monster!_" She smashed the candlestick into his chest, then his stomach, then his groin, and he thought he was dying. In all the pain he'd suffered during his life, nothing had _ever_ been anything like this. Oh, she was right, he would have welcomed death.

"Stop- Andi," he managed to choke out. She was swimming out of focus and he could feel his consciousness slipping away.

"_You're as bad as your father!_" she screamed.

That was the last thing he heard before he passed out.

Rabastan was sure that he was dead. He was aware of nothing but overwhelming pain in every single part of him, but he knew he wasn't being hit anymore, so he couldn't still be alive. He couldn't open his eyes, and he couldn't move his arms or legs – even thinking about it sent excruciating pain through his body.

_Oh, dear God._

What had Andromeda _done_ to him? All he'd done was have a little fun with a Muggle – what was she so distraught about? He knew she wouldn't _approve_, but…

Oh, but she had said he was a wizard…

If it was possible, Rabastan felt even worse. He would have vomited if he could have. She had said that he was a wizard, and he _lived_.

She must have known him.

For just a moment, Rabastan felt a twinge of automatic envy – _was he her lover?_ – but no, Andromeda only fancied women, and even if she was taking male lovers now, what did it matter to Rabastan? He hadn't ever wanted her as a wife. And besides. He was dead.

It was taking Hell an awfully long time to claim him. Here he was, lying on the ground in pain, when he ought to have been dragged into pits of fire and brimstone, or whatever Hell was actually like.

Maybe he wasn't quite dead yet, but teetering on the edge – oh, that was worse. But why would Andromeda have stopped beating him if he wasn't dead yet? The last he had seen and heard her, she had seemed willing to beat him into a jelly.

The floor shifted underneath him and he heard his brother's voice whispering in his ear.

"Rab. Rab, wake up. Please, Rab."

Oh, this was it. This was what Hell was going to be. The Devil would use Rodolphus to torment him. No surprise, when Rodolphus mattered to him more than anything else. But he still couldn't see. Surely Satan would want him to see his brother too, not just hear him.

"Rab, wake up. Can you hear me? Oh, please, Rab…"

Sudden pain shot through Rabastan's body from his shoulder and he jolted. His eyes snapped open of their own accord and he could see his brother's face inches over his own.

"Damnit! Did I hurt you?" Rodolphus withdrew his hand, which had rested on Rabastan's shoulder.

He couldn't be dead. He was in too much pain to be dead, and Rodolphus was too close and warm and _beautiful_ to be a concoction of Satan's.

"Everything hurts," Rabastan whispered. He found that his voice worked, even though it was weaker and thinner than it had ever been before, and he could even move his arms and legs a little. He also became aware of a pillow under his head – he must have been moved to a bed while he was unconscious.

"I know, I know. God, Rab, I think every bone in your body was broken when I found you…" Rodolphus's hand found his and stroked it gently. "I think I patched you up all right – but oh, Rab, what _happened_?"

"I… don't know… how did you find me?"

"The door was unlocked. I walked into the parlour and saw Andromeda…" Rodolphus's voice cracked. "She was beating you to a pulp with a candlestick- God, it made me sick just to look at…"

Rabastan found himself crying again, though letting out sobs hurt his chest.

"Shh…" Rodolphus's voice was as low and soothing as it had been when Rabastan was sick or hurt as a child, and he moved closer and eased his arms around him. Rabastan buried his face in his brother's chest, inhaling his familiar smell.

"Where is she?"

"I stunned her, then gave her a sleeping potion… she seemed crazed."

"She was."

"Do you have any idea why she did it?" Rodolphus whispered, stroking Rabastan's hair lightly. "Why would she hurt you like this? I never thought she would…"

"I did something… awful," Rabastan mumbled, for in hindsight, through the lens of all the pain he was experiencing now, it _did_ seem awful.

"What is it? Tell me, Rab – you'll feel better if you do…"

"No." _No, I won't tell you, and no, I wouldn't feel better if I did._

Rodolphus sighed and shifted on the bed, sending fresh pain stabbing through Rabastan from all angles. Rabastan winced and dug his fingers into Rodolphus's shirt, but didn't protest.

"All right. You… you need rest. God, you're a mess, Rab." Rodolphus combed his fingers gently through his hair, which was the only part of him that didn't hurt – during all her beating, apparently Andromeda had never attacked the top of his head. Maybe she thought that would kill him too quickly. "But you're going to explain this to me later. No one just gets up one day and beats someone until every bone is broken…"

"Mmhmm." Rabastan had no idea what he would tell him, how he would explain what had put Andromeda into such a hysterical rage – especially when he himself could only theorize. Perhaps, if he just slept now, Rodolphus would forget that he asked…

It wasn't terribly likely. Rodolphus was more sensible than that – and he wasn't likely to forget anything about this situation; he had always been so protective, and so committed to making sure that his little brother was never hurt more than he could help.

But Rabastan could hope.

He relaxed against his brother as best he could – which was not very well at all, for even relaxing was agonizingly painful – and Rodolphus cradled him as gently as a baby.

And Rabastan, in his exhaustion and agony, didn't even think to wonder why Rodolphus had intended to come talk to him in the first place.


	57. Chapter 57

When Rabastan woke up, the room was dark, and he could still feel Rodolphus's arms wrapped around him, holding him in place. Rabastan wasn't in quite so much pain as he had been in before, but when he tried to move, he found that he was stiff and cramped from sleeping all day curled up against his brother.

"Rod?"

"Mm?" Rodolphus shifted slightly. "Are you awake?"

Rabastan tried to turn his head to look at him, but his neck didn't want to turn. "What time is it?"

"A little past six, I suppose. The sun just went down."

"Have you been here all day?"

"You didn't think I was going to leave you in this state, did you?"

"No." Rabastan fiddled idly with one of the buttons on Rodolphus's shirt. One of them was digging into his cheek, but he didn't want to move again.

"'Course I wouldn't. Not with _her_ around…" Rodolphus clenched his hand into a fist. "I've got half a mind to go after _her_ – I wouldn't bother with a candlestick, either…" He trailed off, grumbling under his breath, so quietly that, even from a few inches away, Rabastan could only make out whispered, half-formed curses.

"You can't stay here forever." Rabastan's stomach twisted into a knot, thinking about Andromeda. How could he ever close his eyes again, knowing that she was under the same roof as he was, and that she was prepared to do things like _that_…

"I thought… I thought perhaps you should leave," Rodolphus said tentatively. "You can't stay here with a madwoman like her – you could stay with Mother and Father, at least for a few–"

"_No!_"

"Why not?"

Andromeda's voice echoed in his head – _you're as bad as your father._ Just thinking about Joseph turned Rabastan's stomach, and the thought of seeing him – and knowing that Andromeda had, even in her hysteria, thought that they were similar…

"I'm not going to go crawling back to Mummy and Daddy. I'm not a child."

"For God's sake, Rabastan!" Rodolphus's voice went suddenly sharp. "No one's saying you're a child! If you heard that when I said you should stay with Mother and Father, perhaps it's your own problem, not mine! It's practical for you to stay with them when you're wife's turned murderous, and if you could stop fixating on how much you feel like a child for _one minute–_"

"You'd want to see Mother if you were hurt, then?" Rabastan interrupted, and Rodolphus jolted as if he'd been splashed with ice water.

"That's not the same thing, as you very well know."

"Maybe you would want to see Mother – she could kiss you better, kiss you _all over_–"

"Shut your mouth!" Rodolphus gave Rabastan a hard shove and he tumbled off the bed, landing on the floor with a sickening crunch that winded him, despite the short distance. "This is what I get for _saving your life_? You'd be dead if it weren't for me, and you show how grateful you are by saying things like _that_! And she never even touched _you_!"

Rabastan could only wheeze and clutch his stomach, dizzied by the pain. His ears were ringing so badly that he couldn't make out what Rodolphus was saying, but a few moments later – it felt like hours – he felt his brother's arms underneath him, lifting him back into bed.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Rab, I didn't mean to hurt you – it's just– why do you have to say things like that?" He sounded tearful, and he rocked Rabastan back and forth in his arms so hard that it hurt all the more. "I'm only trying to help you!"

"Don't want to see Father and Mother," Rabastan mumbled, trying not to cry from pain or anger.

"Then you don't have to! It was only a suggestion – you were the one who got so upset over it…"

"Sorry," he mumbled, biting down on his tongue until it hurt as badly as the rest of him so he wouldn't snap at his brother.

"You… you could come and stay with me and Bellatrix, if you'd rather…" Rodolphus said tentatively, and Rabastan nodded and clung to him. "All right, come on, then." He slipped one arm under Rabastan's knees, and the other under his shoulder blades, and lifted him gingerly.

"It's going to be all right," he said, when Rabastan whimpered in pain. "Come on… you can have one of our guest rooms, and you can stay as long as you like – I'm not about to send you back _here_…"

"As long as I like?" Rabastan repeated wistfully.

"As long as you like. I might see about getting Andromeda locked up too – I'm not letting anyone get away with hurting my little brother like this, not even her…"

Rabastan closed his eyes and held onto his brother, and only when he heard Bellatrix's rather sharp voice was he even aware that they had Disapparated.

"Rodolphus? Where have you been all day – and what are you doing with- my _God!_"

Rabastan had raised his head to look at her, and the first thing he saw was her recoiling in disgust. There was a looking-glass in their hall, and he caught a glimpse of himself in it – his face was puffy, swollen, and a variety of shades of red and purple. His jaw bulged out slightly on one side, both his eyes were black, and he didn't even _dare_ look below his own neck.

"What happened?" Bellatrix demanded.

"Rabastan's staying with us for a while," Rodolphus told her.

"That doesn't answer my question!"

"No, it doesn't." He pushed past her, towards the stairs.

"What did you _do_ to him?"

"I didn't do anything," said Rodolphus, and that was the last question he answered from Bellatrix, though she continued to shout them up the stairs after them, sounding ever more hysterical.

"Are you going to tell her?" Rabastan asked.

"Do you want me to?"

"Maybe." He swallowed. "I'm not sure."

"Why don't I let you tell her yourself when you're ready to?" Rodolphus pushed a door open and laid Rabastan on the bed inside, which was lush and wide and wonderfully soft. Rabastan felt it conform to his body as he lay down.

"All right."

"Is there anything you want from your home? Books? Clothes? Anything?"

"Maybe…" Rabastan swallowed. "Maybe a change of clothes – if I'm going to be here for a while…"

Rodolphus nodded and stood up, smoothing his hand over Rabastan's cheek. It was such a soft, affectionate gesture that tears came to Rabastan's eyes and he struggled to blink them back – even considering all the pain he was in, he didn't want to cry in front of Rodolphus just then.

"Clothes," Rodolphus echoed. "Right. I'll be back in just a few minutes."

Rabastan nodded and watched his brother retreat, then relaxed back and closed his eyes.

His eyelids had barely fallen into place when he heard the springs of the bed creak, and Bellatrix's voice, very near him. "Well?"

He opened his eyes again, and saw her leaning over him on the bed.

"Get off."

"If my husband brings someone in _your_ state into my home, I think I have a right to know why."

Rabastan rolled over to try to ignore her, but she gripped him by his shoulder and shook him until he gasped in pain.

"What was he doing to you, then?" She prodded at him through the blanket. "Something kinky? Got a bit out of hand?"

"Does this look like _something kinky_ that _got a bit out of hand_?" Rabastan spat, fury boiling in his stomach despite his exhaustion, and his disinterest in getting into a fight with Bellatrix. If it didn't hurt so badly to move, he would have sat up and looked her in the face when he said it. Instead, he just stayed slumped on his side.

"Well, nothing that I thought dear Rodolphus had in him…"

"It was your sister." Rabastan did roll over then, so he could see the look on Bellatrix's face when he told her. "I wasn't doing anything but preparing for Rodolphus to visit, and your _psychotic_ sister stormed into the parlour and started beating me with a candlestick. She'd beaten me almost to a pulp, Rodolphus said."

The smirk dropped from Bellatrix's face.

"Andromeda did that?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because she's mad, I've already said."

Bellatrix gave Rabastan a slap across the face, knocking his breath away. "Don't play at that! You know as well as I that Andromeda's sane! She wouldn't just go beating you without a reason! What did you do to her? What the _Hell_ did you do to my sister?"

"I didn't do anything to her! Why would I do something to her?"

"I don't know! I wouldn't put it past you to practice some of the techniques the Dark Lord's taught you on her!"

"Just because _you'd_ do that if you were in my place, doesn't mean I would! I have some sense of morality!"

"Spare me," Bellatrix snorted. "You, have a sense of morality? Last I checked, you'd done all sorts of immoral things – everything from fucking your brother to killing anyone who happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time…"

"You're one to judge!"

"I'm not judging. I've done all that too, as you well know – and probably more than you; the Dark Lord says you're _hopeless_ at some of the things he tried with you – but I don't run about claiming to have a sense of morality."

"The Dark Lord said I'm hopeless?" Rabastan was momentarily distracted.

Bellatrix's smirk returned briefly. "Of course he did – but then, he'd say nearly anything when I'm on top of him… but that's still not the point."

"I don't know what I did to upset Andromeda so much!" Rabastan said impatiently. "I think it was something about… something I did last night, but–"

"What did you do last night?" Bellatrix interrupted, before Rabastan could finish his sentence, or even properly think what he intended to say after _but_.

"There was this… this man… I thought he was a Muggle." Rabastan had never thought that Bellatrix could be someone he could tell secrets to – but she had looked so _worried_ over Andromeda, and if anyone understood the good sense in killing and torturing Muggles…

"What did you do with him?'

"I… I thought I'd killed him," Rabastan said helplessly. "I really did think I had – but Andromeda acted like- well, while she was beating me, she said…" He swallowed. "She said he was a wizard. I don't see how he could have been!" he added, tears choking his voice, much as he tried to suppress them. "I could practically smell him, and he was in Muggle clothes and all – if he wasn't a Muggle, he _had_ to be a Mudblood!"

"She said she was beating you over him?"

"I… I think… it's all a bit of a haze." Rabastan's memories of what Andromeda had done were little more than just an agonizing blur of incredible pain, punctuated with moments of sharper pain, and a handful of garbled words. "I think that's what she said… I think she knew him."

"A Mudblood, you say."

"Yes."

Bellatrix was twisting the end of a lock of her hair around and around her finger, and her expression was drawn and worried. Rabastan had never seen Bellatrix with that sort of expression before.

"If it was a woman, I'd think…" she began, then stopped abruptly, twisting the hair ever faster.

"Think what?"

"That's none of your business!"

"Oh, my mistake; I'm _only_ the one she nearly beat to death over it."

"Shut it, Rabastan." Bellatrix stood up abruptly. "Don't say a word about this to anyone. Not even Rodolphus."

"Why?"

"Just don't!" she almost shouted, then she added, "I'm going to go talk to Andromeda."


	58. Chapter 58

Bellatrix had only just left the room when Rodolphus came back in, clutching a bundle of Rabastan's clothes. He sat on the corner of the bed and touched his brother's arm. "You look upset."

"Why would I be upset? I've only been smashed into oblivion with a candlestick."

Rodolphus let out a very forced laugh. There were tears glittering in the corners of his eyes, and he was very clearly struggling not to let them fall. "Do you want me to get a proper Healer?"

"Not particularly."

Rodolphus nodded, then lay down beside Rabastan and stroked his arm lightly. "Then you just go to sleep. I'll stay here."

"All night?"

"Of course. As if I would leave my own brother when you're in such a state..." He caressed his cheek tenderly. "Soon..." He swallowed, and his eyes narrowed. "As soon as I can, I'm going to go tell Mother and Father what Andromeda did to you – I'm not letting you go back to her, not ever."

Rabastan nodded, and shifted on the bed so he was closer to his brother. He could feel his body quivering slightly – probably with anger at Andromeda. Despite everything, Rabastan quite enjoyed knowing how upset his brother was on his behalf. It almost made up for Rodolphus's long abandonment of him, and the things he had said to Bellatrix – saying that he would rather be with her than with Rabastan...

The memory made tears come to Rabastan's eyes no matter how he struggled to keep them back, and Rodolphus soothed him without knowing why he was crying. Rabastan fell asleep with his face buried in the crook of his brother's shoulder.

He woke up in the middle of the night, with moonlight spilling in the window. Rodolphus's arms were still around him, and when Rabastan opened his eyes, he could see his profile illuminated by the moonlight.

He wasn't aware of anything particular having woken him until he shifted slightly and saw Bellatrix standing in the doorway.

The moonlight illuminated her too, and in painful clarity. She had her arms crossed across her chest and she was hunched over slightly. Her head was bent forward, but not bent so far that it wasn't clear that she was looking at Rodolphus and Rabastan. When she moved her head a little, the light caught on her face, and Rabastan could see that there were tears on her cheeks.

If Bellatrix was aware that Rabastan's eyes were open and that he was looking at her, she certainly wasn't showing it. She wiped tears unceremoniously from her cheeks with the backs of her wrists, with none of the pride that he would have expected from her. Perhaps it was the light of the moon, or only the fact that she was crying, but she looked more like Andromeda than like herself.

Rabastan didn't speak to her or make it known that he was awake. He simply watched her as she stood and watched them and brushed away her tears. After some time, Bellatrix crossed the room and put her hand on Rodolphus's shoulder, and Rabastan lowered his eyelids.

"Rod?" Bellatrix whispered, and Rodolphus stirred.

"Mm?"

"Are you going to come to bed?"

"'Course not."

"Rabastan's asleep. He'll be all right."

"Go on to bed, Bella. I'm staying here."

"What for?"

"What's the matter with you? Bella, have you been crying?" Rodolphus's voice sounded mildly more alert, and Rabastan could feel him raising an arm to rub his eyes.

"It's Andromeda." Bellatrix's voice broke, and Rodolphus stiffened.

"Do you think I care about her after what she did to my brother?"

"Well, no, but–"

"Go on to bed," Rodolphus repeated, in a rather severe voice. "I'm not interested in hearing you talk about your mad sister. And Rabastan needs me."

"_I_ need you," Bellatrix said tearfully. Hearing Bellatrix so openly on the verge of crying was disconcerting – seeing tears on her cheeks had been strange enough, and hearing it was far worse.

"Why not go off to the Dark Lord instead?" Rodolphus said scathingly. "Surely he'd be willing to comfort you."

"That's not fair. You're my husband."

"You want to talk about fairness now? You weren't considering fairness when you were running off with the Dark Lord."

"Rodolphus, please." Bellatrix's voice shook terribly. "That isn't anything to do with the Dark Lord. This is something to do with me and Andromeda."

"What about you and Andromeda?"

Bellatrix went silent. Rabastan cracked one eye and saw her turned away.

"I don't want to talk about it in front of your brother."

"He's asleep, Bella."

"That doesn't matter."

"If you have something to say to me and you want to say it tonight, then you're going to have to say it in front of Rabastan. I'm not going to leave him. He was at death's door today."

"But he isn't anymore."

"Obviously, whatever you have to say isn't really very important, or you'd just say it here instead of wanting to wait for me to be alone."

Even in the bleached grey-white moonlight, Rabastan could tell that Bellatrix was turning red. She was also trembling badly. Rabastan felt a pang of concern, even coupled with pride that Rodolphus was more concerned about his wellbeing than hers.

"All right," she said in a low voice, through gritted teeth. "All right, then. You need to tell Rabastan not to divorce Andromeda."

"I beg your pardon?" Rodolphus said haughtily. "I'm not about to let him go back to her, not after this."

"You don't understand." Bellatrix's tone was urgent. "Yes, yes, what she did to him was dreadful and I wouldn't have expected it of her, but there's- she needs to stay married."

"I should have known that you would say something of that sort." Rodolphus's voice rose slightly and he sat up, dislodging Rabastan. "I should have known that you would try to keep your family's dignity, even when your sister does _this–_"

"This isn't about my family's dignity!"

"Do you really expect me to believe that?" Rodolphus's voice had risen almost to a shout, and neither he nor Bellatrix seemed at all troubled now that Rabastan was no longer pretending to be asleep. "Do you really expect me to believe – do you really think for a moment that I'm so stupid–"

"It _isn't_ about her being disgraced by divorce!" Bellatrix all but screamed. "But she can't go unmarried!'

"Why not? Because she'll have a child out of wedlock?"

"No! There are worse things! People in the Black family have had children out of wedlock before, and maintained their status – people in the Black family have been divorced before and maintained their status!"

"So, what, then? What's happened to Andromeda that's so dreadful that no one on the Black family tree can be said to do it?"

Bellatrix didn't answer. Now that Rabastan was obviously awake, she grabbed him and shook him roughly. Every part of him was sent into spasms of pain so intense that he could barely hear her.

"You can't divorce Andromeda, Rabastan, you can't!"

"You're hurting him!"

"You two are so _stupid!_" Bellatrix's voice broke again, and she sounded quite hysterical. She slapped Rabastan across his face and the pain that exploded in his jaw was unbearable. "This is your fault, Rabastan – if you weren't such a useless excuse for a husband–"

"Don't you dare!" Rodolphus shouted, rising to his feet and catching Bellatrix by her arm before she could strike Rabastan again. "Rabastan's a better husband than your sister deserves, and how _dare_ you lay a hand on him!"

"If he weren't so busy with you, she never would have–" Bellatrix broke off abruptly.

"Never would have hurt him? You think he deserves this, do you?" Rodolphus challenged, raising a hand as if to strike her. Bellatrix didn't flinch away. Her hands were shaking violently, and her face must have been practically purple for the way her blush was showing in the moonlight.

"No. That wasn't what I was going to say at all," she hissed. "But it's for the better that Rabastan doesn't know, so if you're going to take his side like this, I suppose it's for the better that you don't know either."

"Get out," Rodolphus ordered.

Bellatrix retreated, breathing heavily and glaring at them with every step, and Rodolphus glared back. Only when she slammed the door did Rodolphus relax and sink back onto the bed.

"I'm so sorry, Rabastan," he said, his voice suddenly just as gentle as ever it had been. "You shouldn't be suffering so much excitement – you need your rest. And don't worry about Bellatrix," he added quickly. "She can scream all she wants, but she can't do anything to stop you from being rid of her sister."

"Mmhmm," was all Rabastan could mumble. Rodolphus clearly took his lack of eloquence as a sign of distress, for he guided Rabastan back against his chest and made small, comforting noises.

Rabastan found himself completely unable to sleep for the rest of the night. Rodolphus didn't seem to sleep much either, for Rabastan could feel him shifting constantly against him. Rabastan watched the sky outside for signs of lightness, and he could not stop himself from wondering, if Bellatrix truly hadn't meant to say that, if he had been a better husband, Andromeda never would have hurt him, what she had meant to say.


	59. Chapter 59

Rodolphus stayed with him for the rest of the day, leaving only for brief moments to fetch water or food or anything else that Rabastan might say he wanted. Mostly, Rabastan wanted his brother's company. The pain he had been in had begun to fade, but it was still agonizing to try to sit up, much less to walk. He appreciated Rodolphus's presence in the bed, the feeling of his body's warmth and weight resting against him, and the sound of his soft, steady breathing, which was so familiar and yet which Rabastan hadn't heard for what felt like a very long time.

"Will Bellatrix be missing you?" Rabastan asked on the third day that he spent there. Evening was just falling, and he was curled gently against Rodolphus's chest so he could listen to his heartbeat. The beat accellerated at the mention of Bellatrix.

"If she is, she'll just have to wait. But I doubt she is," he added sullenly. Rabastan nestled his head into his chest and touched his arm in an attempt to show sympathy.

"You don't really need to stay here," he murmured, though the thought of Rabastan leaving made his heart ache a little. "I'm sure you'd like to... see her."

"Go to bed with her, you mean."

Rabastan blushed. "'Course that's what I mean."

Rodolphus sighed and ran his fingers through Rabastan's hair. "I must admit, when I'm lying here with you, I- well, I- there have been a few moments when I've wished that you and I could..." He broke off self-consciously, and Rabastan looked up at him.

"We could."

"Absolutely not. Not when you're in this condition. I don't want to hurt you any more than you're already hurt."

Rabastan's mouth turned into a pout without his control. He hadn't even wanted him much a few minutes ago, but the thought of Rodolphus lying beside him and restraining himself was erotic, in its way.

"I've missed you. It's been a long time." He turned his voice sweet and soft and cajoling, and Rodolphus looked away from him.

"Jesus, Rabastan. You can barely move, how do you expect me to do anything with you?"

"I can move." He sat up and tears came to his eyes as his spine bent, but he managed not to cry out with pain. "You see? And I can just lie back, you can do the work..."

"No."

"Rod..." Rabastan struggled to get on top of his brother. All his joints ached and pain shot through him from every movement, but he managed to straddle Rodolphus and he didn't push him away. "I don't want you to be deprived because you're nursing me."

"You're a tease, Rab," Rodolphus mumbled, but then his hands knotted in Rabastan's hair and he pulled him down against him so their lips pressed together. Rabastan whimpered in pain, but when Rodolphus hesitated, he only kissed him more enthusiastically. Rodolphus's hips bucked up desperately and Rabastan ground down on him as best he could.

"Fine... you convinced me." Rodolphus's voice was slurred a little and he rolled Rabastan over onto the pillow. "All right, all right, just- don't let me hurt you."

"Mmhmm." Rabastan would sooner have endured the pain than stop his brother from doing anything to him. He found that he was able to withstand more when his brother's mouth was pressed against his and his hands were scrabbling desperately at his skin.

Rodolphus eased Rabastan's shirt off and peppered kisses across his bruised and lacerated chest, and Rabastan whispered encouragement – as much as he loved being cradled chastely and protectively by his brother, being kissed and caressed was a hundred times better. Excitement twisted in the pit of his stomach when Rodolphus's hands moved to the waist of his trousers.

"Let me..." He reached up and clawed at Rodolphus's shirt with hands that were clumsy from lack of use over the last few days, but Rodolphus pulled back.

"No."

"What? Why?"

Rodolphus had gone peculiarly stiff. "Just- I want to keep my clothes on."

"What for?"

Rodolphus silenced him with another passionate kiss, and Rabastan immediately forgot about his brother's clothes in favour of deepening the kiss. He clung to him while he tugged his trousers down, and didn't relax his grip until Rodolphus was inside him.

He was thicker than the Dark Lord, and moved much more clumsily, which only made Rabastan's heart race. He was acutely aware that this was still all new to Rodolphus – and that taking complete control while Rabastan lay on his back and accepted him was especially unfamiliar – and the sense of being Rodolphus's only male lover lent him a certain feeling of power that he enjoyed deeply.

"Rab- oh, Rab," Rodolphus murmured, his voice catching as roughly as if he was almost in tears. "Is this all right?"

"Better than all right."

"I don't want to hurt–"

"You're not hurting me," Rabastan insisted, though his legs and back did seize a little with every thrust that his brother gave him. But he would never have told Rodolphus as much. Rodolphus would probably never touch him again out of fear if he thought he was causing him pain.

He clawed at Rodolphus's back, feeling the soft fabric of his shirt drag against his nails. Rodolphus moaned and arched his back, and pulled back briefly, stroking Rabastan's cheek with a fumbling hand.

"I love you so much, Rab. You know that, don't you?"

"Of course I do..."

"I only ever want to do what's best for you."

"What's this about, then?" he mumbled. How could Rodolphus even be making such statements when he was in between his legs? How did he have the willpower to say anything?

"Everything I do- I'm doing it for you." Rodolphus's voice cracked and Rabastan could see tears glittering in the corners of his eyes.

"What are you talking about?" It was profoundly difficult for Rabastan to say anything, but with such a look of sudden distress on his brother's face, he couldn't very well ignore it.

Rodolphus stilled and a tear spilled down his cheek. He wiped it away hurriedly.

"Rod?" Rabastan tried to sit up a little and pain gripped him from all directions, undiluted by the pleasure that he had been experiencing a few moments before. "Rodolphus? What's the matter- oh, don't cry!" He wiped his brother's eyes hurriedly. "What's happened?"

"Nothing- nothing. I just get- emotional- when- doing this..." Rodolphus's cheeks turned crimson. He dashed his eyes with the backs of his hands. "Kiss me."

Rabastan did so immediately and earnestly, revelling in the taste and feeling of his brother's lips, and it was but a few more seconds before Rodolphus jolted and spilled into him.

Rabastan moaned in pleasure – doubly so when Rodolphus's hand wrapped around his erection – and a moment later, Rabastan's body bent in on itself and a shock of delight ran through him. In that split second, Rabastan couldn't feel any pain at all, and he wished desperately that he could enjoy this feeling forever, but a few seconds later, it dissipated and he was left in nearly as much pain as before, though he was newly exhausted.

Rodolphus slumped beside him, breathing heavily. His shirt clung to him with his perspiration.

"Here," Rabastan murmured, and reached over to pop the buttons of Rodolphus's shirt. He wanted it off, wanted to feel him, skin against hot skin.

Rodolphus's eyes had fallen shut and he opened them hazily. Rabastan had his shirt half-off before he even seemed to register what he was doing.

"Rab, no–"

He sat up quickly, and the sleeve of his shirt – which Rabastan was still clutching – tore away from the body. Rodolphus clutched at the sleeve, but Rabastan had already caught a glimpse of bandages around his arm.

"What happened?" Rabastan was suddenly alert. He sat up quickly, ignoring the pain. "What happened to your arm? Was it Andromeda?"

"No, it wasn't Andromeda."

"Bellatrix?" If she had hurt him badly enough to require bandages, Rabastan would make her pay – how, he didn't know, but she would regret it.

"No, not Bellatrix."

"Who, then?" Rabastan pushed his brother's shirt off his shoulders and threw it aside. Rodolphus tried to pull away, but in his attempts not to hurt Rabastan, he couldn't get him to let go before he had begun unwinding the bandages.

"Rab, no, now's not the time-"

But despite his protests, Rabastan already had the bandages off, and his eyes widened as he stared at his brother's arm. His hands went numb and the bandage slipped out of his fingers.

Rodolphus jerked his arm away and shifted away, clutching his arm protectively against his chest, but he needn't have bothered. Rabastan had already seen the now-familiar snake and skull, blackened on raw red flesh, marring his brother's flawless skin.

"You weren't supposed to see..."

"Weren't you planning on telling me?" Rabastan asked in a choked voice.

"Of course! It's what I was coming to see you to tell you – but Rab, after everything that happened, I thought it would be better for you to- to wait a bit before finding out..."

Tears stung Rabastan's eyes. He prayed that he wouldn't cry. "Did you take it so you could spend more time with Bellatrix?"

"No! Rabastan, how could you think- I took it for your sake, and no one else's!"

"_My_ sake? What do you mean, for my sake?"

Rodolphus ran a hand through his hair. "I can't let you put yourself in that much danger and not do anything to help – if you're going to be in situations that could get you killed, I want to be right next to you, every single step of the way."

"I didn't want you to do that!"

"It's not about what you want! It's about my responsibility- my responsibility as your brother–"

"You don't have a responsibility to follow me around every day of my life!"

"I do if you're in danger!"

"I can take care of myself!"

"How am I to believe that when you're lying in bed, practically crippled–"

"That isn't anything to do with the Dark Lord!"

"That isn't the point!"

Tears spilled freely down Rabastan's cheeks now, and he didn't bother to wipe them away. "I didn't want you getting mixed up in it! The Dark Lord asked for _me_! _I_ was the one he was interested in, not you!" Then, shocking himself with his own possessiveness, he added, "He's _mine!_"

"He isn't yours! He's barely anything to do with you!" Rodolphus's voice sounded more jealous than angry, which elated and excited Rabastan. "I'm your brother! _You're_ supposed to be _mine_! And- and the Dark Lord would sooner go to bed with Bellatrix than with you!"

"So would you!" Rabastan shouted. "I overheard you tell her so! I overheard you say that you would rather have her than me!"

Rodolphus opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He stared at Rabastan for a moment, then he managed to whisper, "You heard that?"

"Yes!"

"Oh, Rab, I'm so–"

"Don't bother telling me you're sorry."

"But I am. Oh, Rab, I didn't mean..."

Rabastan fixed Rodolphus with the most withering stare he could muster. Rodolphus closed his mouth and his expression hardened.

"It doesn't matter in any case," he said. "I've taken the Dark Mark now. You know better than I that I can't go back now. I'm as much a Death Eater as you are, and you can't stop me from doing my best to keep my brother safe."


	60. Chapter 60

"You can't keep your brother here forever," Bellatrix told Rodolphus. It was the dozenth time she'd told him as much, and Rabastan was growing tired of the argument, which never seemed to go anywhere particular. Bellatrix said that Rabastan had to leave, Rodolphus said that he wouldn't, they argued, they raised their voices until they were both shouting, and then Bellatrix stomped away in a rage and Rodolphus lay down beside Rabastan and fumed, and the whole tedious and unpleasant process started over again.

"Watch me," Rodolphus told her. "This is my house more than it is yours, and my brother is staying here."

"Oh, this is going to make Christmas fantastically fun, isn't it? I can't _wait_ to have to explain to everyone that we're harbouring–"

"We aren't _harbouring_ anyone! We're keeping him safe, because your sister's out of her bloody mind!'

"Watch what you say about my sister."

"After what she did to Rabastan, I'll say what I want about her!"

"How many days until Christmas?" Rabastan cut in groggily. He had been lying in bed for so long that he wasn't sure whether two days had passed, or twenty.

"Only a few. It's the twenty-first."

"Already?" Rabastan mumbled. He rolled over on the bed and squinted out the window, as if that would confirm the date for him. There was a thin film of frost around the corners, and the sky outside was steel-grey.

"Yes. Are you coming to the Christmas party?" Bellatrix asked, and he lifted one shoulder in a non-committal little shrug. It still hurt to move, although the pain was fading, and small motions like that caused only the faintest twinges of soreness.

"Of course he isn't!" Rodolphus cut in. "Look at him, Bellatrix, does he look like he's in any sort of state to be going to a Christmas party?"

"I'm doing much better!" Rabastan protested, flushing. "I could go to a party!"

"You haven't been out of bed all week!"

"But I can get out." Rabastan struggled to his feet, clutching the windowsill for support. The wood was cold under his hand. "Look."

"Why would you want to go to the Christmas party anyhow?" Rodolphus asked, frowning at him. "You hate parties."

"Just don't tell me where I can and can't go."

"You're being so childish."

"Oh, and what else is new?"

Bellatrix sniggered, and Rabastan and Rodolphus both glared at her. She covered her mouth quickly, but her eyes were sparkling and it was obvious that she was smiling behind her hand.

"Is there something you want to say, Bellatrix?" Rodolphus demanded.

"Oh, just that Rabastan is adorable when he snaps."

"Go away," Rodolphus told her. She shrugged, apparently bored with their argument, and stepped out, and Rodolphus turned back to Rabastan, whose legs were threatening to give out under his own weight.

"Get back into bed." Rodolphus's voice softened. "You don't have to prove anything to me."

"Apparently, I do. You don't think I'm capable of going to a Goddamned _Christmas_ party."

"You've been bed-bound for more than a week! You can't just get up and go running about at a party!"

"I can do whatever I want!"

"No, you can't."

"Don't treat me like I'm four years old."

"Then don't act like it."

Rabastan fell silent, privately fuming at his brother. What gave him the right to tell Rabastan that he was acting like a child? Rabastan was an adult, as much as Rodolphus was, and perfectly capable of making his own decisions.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," Rodolphus told him.

"Like what?"

"You know perfectly well like what. Like I've committed some unspeakable crime against you. I was only trying to do what's best for you. If you want to go to the Christmas party so much, then you can."

"That's not the point."

"Then what is?" Rodolphus asked, sounding exasperated. "Dear God, Rabastan, is this about me joining the Death Eaters?"

Rabastan tried to answer, but his throat closed up and he found that he couldn't say anything. Rodolphus seemed to take his silence for assent, and sank onto the bed, rubbing his forehead with both his hands.

"Rabastan, I did it because I want to keep you safe."

"That's not your responsibility anymore."

"It will always be my responsibility. You're my little brother. I'm responsible for you."

"I can be responsible for myself?"

"Can you? _Think_, Rabastan! If you were really capable of being entirely responsible for yourself, you wouldn't have needed me to save you from your own wife, would you?"

"That's entirely different! I've never needed you to save me from the Dark Lord."

"It's the same principle, just a different circumstance. And I'm not trying to talk down to you, you know, Rabastan!" Rodolphus's voice shook. "I know that that's what you think I'm doing when I say that I want to protect you, but it isn't. I'm not just trying to make you feel like a child – I don't _think_ you're a child! I don't want to protect you because I think that you're weak and can't do things for yourself." He reached out and caught one of Rabastan's thin, shaking hands. "I want to protect you because no one can protect themselves all the time, and because, if anything happened to you..."

He trailed off, and Rabastan, exhausted from even his short stint of standing, knelt on the bed beside him and let him put his arms around him.

"If anything happened to me?" he prompted in a whisper in Rodolphus's ear.

"I couldn't stand it. I couldn't live without my brother."

Rabastan flushed a little. "Of course you could," he said quietly, and Rodolphus shook his head.

"No, I couldn't. I couldn't go on if I knew you were gone, not even for a day. What would there be left for me if you died?" He laughed mirthlessly. "Sixty years with Bellatrix, pretending to be a good husband who wasn't just half a person without his little brother? Thinking about it makes me sick. All those long, idle days, knowing I'd never see you again..."

Rabastan tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

"I was always so afraid that you'd get sick and never recover," Rodolphus said quietly. "I tried not to show you how much- but I expect you knew."

"The healers always made things sound worse than they were."

"I know that now. I've seen them be wrong enough times. But I didn't know that when you were six years old. Remember when you were six years old?"

"Not particularly."

"You had a fever," Rodolphus told him, and he smoothed his hand over his brow as if checking for heat still. "It lasted for months. You could barely talk, barely eat... everyone thought that you were going to die. Mother and Father were making plans for your funeral." He gave another short, dry laugh entirely devoid of any sort of genuine amusement. "I sat with you every single day. I only left when the healers ordered me to. I suppose it's all just a blur to you now, but I remember everything about it. You never stopped crying."

His voice broke.

"Every morning, when I woke up, the first thing I thought was that this might be the day that you died, and every night, my last thought before going to sleep was that you might be dead by the time I woke. I slept in a chair beside you, with my hand on your neck so that I could feel your heartbeat every single second that I was conscious."

"Rodolphus, I–" Rabastan began, but Rodolphus interrupted in a tearful voice.

"I had a rope in the attic."

"A what?"

"A rope. Tied to one of the rafters. I had everything ready for the day that you died."

Rabastan felt like a vice was tightening on his heart.

"I even practiced," Rodolphus murmured. "When the healers made me leave your room, I went up to the attic and climbed on top of three trunks that I'd stacked on top of each other and put the rope around my neck. I thought about how we'd be able to meet after death. I prayed that God would forgive me for suicide. Prayed that He would understand.

"But then you got better. You always did, even though you'd be sick again in a few days. There's not an illness in this world that can keep hold of you." He squeezed Rabastan's hand in his, and smiled very briefly before his face turned serious again. "But, you know, I still have that rope in the attic, just in case something happens to you."


	61. Chapter 61

Rabastan could not shake a vague feeling of anxiety every time he looked at Rodolphus after that. Every time he looked at his brother, all he could imagine was a rope resting around his neck. The thought made his stomach and chest tighten, and at night, he lay awake wondering just how much it would take to send Rodolphus up into the attic of their parent's home, never to come back down. Would it only happen when Rabastan died? Or would he do it sooner, driven to it by Bellatrix, or by Maria, or by the shame of living in sin with his brother?

That last possibility troubled Rabastan most of all, for if it was the case, then it meant that every time he touched his brother, he could be driving him closer to the breaking point.

Rodolphus, for his part, seemed no more morose or troubled after telling Rabastan that he had been prepared to commit suicide since the age of nine than he had before. He made no mention of it, and Rabastan didn't dare to bring it up for fear of upsetting him.

On the afternoon of Christmas eve, Rodolphus left Rabastan alone in the bedroom, and when he came back, he was dressed in flowing velvet robes, and looked worried and drawn.

"Are you coming to the party?"

"I thought you didn't want me to."

Rodolphus perched on the edge of the bed and took Rabastan's hand. From the way his thumb rested on the inside of Rabastan's wrist, he might have been checking his pulse.

"I've reconsidered."

"I don't know if I want to go." Rabastan glanced out the window. The sun was setting on the opposite side of the manor, casting everything he could see into shadows in shades of grey. "I'm not feeling very much in the Christmas spirit."

"Nor am I. That's why I want you there."

"What's changed?" Rabastan looked at him, searching his face for answers. "You were so sure you didn't want me there, and now all of a sudden you're trying to convince me. What's so different now?"

Rodolphus swallowed, and it was his turn to look out the window. After a painful silence, he said, "I went to see Mother and Father today."

Rabastan felt a little sick to his stomach. "Oh?"

"I ended up seeing Mother, mostly."

"Oh."

"I wanted to tell them about what Andromeda did to you." Rodolphus looked back at Rabastan with a slightly desperate expression. "Why you wouldn't be at the party together – why Andromeda wouldn't be there. Bellatrix says she hasn't left her bed since..." He trailed off and swallowed. "Well. Mother wasn't interested in hearing about you."

"'Course she wasn't," Rabastan mumbled. He tried not to feel jealous – reminded himself that it was infinitely better to be ignored by their mother than to be treated the way Rodolphus was – but he couldn't quite quell a bitter tone.

"Rabastan..."

"I mean, when has she ever been interested in hearing about me?"

"Don't, Rab. I don't want to see her on my own tonight."

Rabastan sat up and pulled his knees against his chest. "Can't you have Bellatrix stay with you instead?"

"I don't want Bellatrix. I want you."

He hesitated, and Rodolphus leaned in and put his fingers under his chin and lifted it.

"Please," he said quietly. "I'm sorry that I tried to tell you not to go to the party. Please come with me."

"I haven't got anything to wear," Rabastan told him, avoiding his eyes.

"I have spare robes."

"Your clothes wouldn't fit me."

"They might. You're getting taller, Rab."

Rabastan forced a small, dry laugh. "Hardly."

"You are. You'll be gaining weight next." He put his hand on Rabastan's leg, and a small shiver ran through Rabastan's body. Rodolphus pulled his hand away quickly, as if that was the worst thing they had ever done together.

"I'll get you a set of robes," he mumbled, then stood and hurried out.

Rabastan didn't bother pointing out that he had never actually agreed to come to the party with Rodolphus. It didn't matter anymore – if Rodolphus wanted him there so much, then he would go. He couldn't let his brother down so badly.

Rodolphus reappeared a few moments later, carrying a set of neatly folded robes that smelled so strongly of mothballs that Rabastan could detect the smell from across the room. He wrinkled his nose.

"I know they smell a bit foul," Rodolphus said hurriedly, "but they've been sitting at the bottom of a trunk since Bellatrix and I started living here, and they're the only other set I have that isn't full of holes and dust..."

"It's fine." Rabastan heaved himself up off the bed and swallowed, feeling dizzy as the blood rushed from his head. "Can you- help me?"

"Of course I can."

Rabastan gripped the wall and stared at himself in the mirror while Rodolphus undid his shirt. He had avoided looking in mirrors since he was first brought to Bellatrix and Rodolphus's home, but now, he stared at his reflection, absorbing the sights of every injury he bore. His nose and jaw looked slightly misaligned – any hopes he had of someday growing into the good looks that lucky Lestranges like his brother had were soundly dashed – and his torso was still littered with bruises, though most of them were fading from angry reds and purples to sickly shades of green.

There had not been a single day in Rabastan's life when he thought he looked handsome, but there were few when he felt so dreadfully ugly as he did then.

His lip wobbled, and Rodolphus must have noticed, for in a second, his arms were wrapped tightly around Rabastan and he was cradling him against his chest.

"Are you all right? Are you in pain?" he asked in a whisper, and his hands flitted over Rabastan's back and sides. "Did I hurt you?"

"N- no," he mumbled into the velvet of Rodolphus's robes.

"You were about to cry..."

"I was not."

Rodolphus's lips brushed against the top of his head, and he ran a hand down the bare skin of his back. Rabastan could feel his fingers running over every vertebrae. He stayed pressed flat against his brother's body until Rodolphus broke away.

Rabastan let him finish dressing him, though Rodolphus did it so gingerly that getting the robes on took the better part of twenty minutes, and he still couldn't entirely avoid causing Rabastan pain. When Rabastan was finally dressed, he felt more like he had had a very large blanket draped over him than like he was wearing formal clothes.

Even dress robes in his own size had never looked particularly good on him, and in these, he looked like a child trying to wear his father's clothes. The hem Rodolphus's robes touched the ground, the wrists hung down to his fingertips, and the torso was laughably loose. He looked a mess. He _felt_ a mess.

"You're handsome, Rab."

Rabastan snorted. "No, I'm not." However much Rodolphus might love him, there could be no way that he could see his thin, broken body as _handsome_.

"I wish I looked like you."

Rabastan stared at Rodolphus in disbelief. At first, he thought that he must have misheard him, and he struggled to think what it might have been that he said. When he couldn't think of any alternatives, he sputtered, "You wish you looked like me?"

"Yes." Rodolphus lifted one shoulder in a little half-shrug, then looked away. "I think you're handsome."

"Well." Rabastan looked back at himself in the mirror, and let out a short, sharp laugh. "Well, you're about the only person on the face of the earth who thinks that, then. Most people don't consider being so thin and weak that one can barely stand up to be attractive."

"I know," said Rodolphus, then, quietly, "that's the point."

"What's the point?"

"That no one else would- never mind." Rodolphus shook his head quickly, then smoothed his hand over Rabastan's hair. Rabastan winced as his touch ran over the bumps on his head. "It's nothing. Forget that I ever said it." And then, before Rabastan could say anything more – before he could even protest that Rodolphus was hurting his head – he added, "You look fine. Now, come on downstairs. Bellatrix wouldn't like it if we made her late for the party."


	62. Chapter 62

"I see you decided to bring your brother along after all," Bellatrix said, when Rabastan and Rodolphus made their way to the bottom of the stairs at last. Rabastan's legs shook with every step, and he leaned against Rodolphus for support, but the pain he was in was lessening, now that he was moving.

"So I did," Rodolphus said shortly. "I assume that your sister won't be present."

"I wouldn't know." Bellatrix looked away from them, examining herself in the looking glass. "I haven't spoken to her since the night you brought Rabastan here." She tucked back a lock of hair that had fallen out of the knot at the back of her head, and Rabastan noticed her hand shaking slightly. Rabastan craned his neck and looked at himself in the mirror, then immediately wished he hadn't. The bruises on his face were fading to horrifying shades of yellow and green. Even when he was in the worst depths of illnesses, he couldn't recall ever looking this poorly.

"Shall we go, then?" Bellatrix asked, and Rodolphus nodded and wrapped his arm more securely around Rabastan's shoulders, then reached out and took Bellatrix's wrist. Rabastan held tightly to his brother and closed his eyes. The pain of Disapparation when every part of him was already shaky and bruised was intense, but over mercifully quickly, and when Rabastan opened his eyes, he was standing in the foyer of the Black's manor, and his mother was descending on him like a great crimson bat.

"Rabastan!" she cried, and Rabastan almost gagged on the mixed smells of her perfume and her vodka. "Oh, Rabastan, you poor thing! Rodolphus told me what happened to you!" She pushed him back to arm's length to look at him, and Rabastan's neck snapped back painfully. "Dear God, you poor thing."

Bellatrix made a soft, disgusted noise, and Rabastan glanced over in time to see her striding past Maria without so much as a 'Happy Christmas'. If Maria noticed, she didn't see fit to react. She pushed Rabastan's hair back and put her hand against his swollen jaw.

"Have you seen a healer?" she asked, and Rodolphus spoke up.

"I patched him up, Mother. He doesn't need a healer."

"Of course he needs a healer! Rodolphus, look at him!" Maria looked over at Rodolphus severely. "I'm ashamed of you for not thinking to take him to one!"

"I don't want to see a healer," Rabastan said, but Maria ignored him.

"For all you know, she could have done more damage – damage that you can't even see! You might have mended broke bones, but she could have torn muscles, or harmed his organs, or–"

"I think I would have noticed by now if she had done something that Rodolphus hadn't fixed," Rabastan said, more loudly than he had intended. Maria glanced over at him with a look of vague surprise on her face, as if she hadn't expected him to say anything. Rabastan's heartbeat accelerated sharply and his head spun.

"Why- we only want what's best for you, dear," Maria said, her voice softening. "We would be distraught if the damage that she caused you was permanent."

_Rodolphus would be distraught. You would hardly notice._

"Rodolphus did as well as any healer could. Better, even – they would have just told me that I was on my deathbed and had no hope of recovery," Rabastan told her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rodolphus's face flush slightly, and he hoped that it was from pride. Maria flushed too, and stepped back.

"Well, Rabastan, if you feel certain," she said in a measured voice.

"I do."

"Well," she repeated, then stopped. Her hand moved to rest on the swell of her stomach, which was now quite full and round beneath her crimson dress. Rabastan thought of the baby growing within it – _Rodolphus's baby_ – and then quickly looked away, for it made him sick with anger.

"Mother," Rodolphus said, breaking the silence rather tentatively, "have you been drinking?"

"Of course," she said, turning her attention to him and raising her chin slightly. "Why do you ask?"

"You shouldn't drink when you're- with child."

"Nonsense. I didn't change my habits before either of you were born, and I shan't do it now."

"But Mother, the baby–"

"Why do you think of the health of the unborn child, but not of your living brother's?" Maria's voice took on a slightly dangerous edge, and it sounded less as if she was asking a question, and more as if she was reminding him of something that he should not have forgotten. "Surely to you, Rodolphus, Rabastan's wellbeing should be more important than this child's."

The slight flush that had been present in Rodolphus's cheeks drained away, and Rabastan saw him tighten his hands into fists briefly before he said, "You're right, Mother, of course. Drink as much as you please."

Maria pressed her lips together tightly, and oppressive silence hung over them for a few moments before she said, "Well, I think I shall rejoin the party – and I'm sure that you two have people you would like to see." Then she turned around without another word and swept out of the foyer. Rodolphus's fists unclenched and he looked at Rabastan and gave him a small, weak smile.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault that she's out of her mind." Rabastan glared after her with a visceral feeling of disgust in his stomach. Rodolphus touched his arm gently and gave him a weak smile.

"Oh, Rodolphus, Rabastan." A door had swung open, and Lucius Malfoy stepped out. He had grown taller since last Rabastan had seen him, and he was nearly the same height as Rodolphus. He gave the two of them a half-smile. "What a pleasure. It's been a long time."

"So it has," Rodolphus said.

"What happened to you, Rabastan?" Lucius's eyes swept up and down Rabastan's body, and he was acutely aware of his poorly-fitted robes as well as his bruises.

"Andromeda Black happened to him," Rodolphus said darkly, and Lucius raised an eyebrow.

"Andromeda? Got into a little domestic spat, did you, Rabastan?"

"Not exactly." Rabastan felt his brother looking at him, and wondered how often in the past days Rodolphus had stopped himself from questioning him about the cause of the fight. Had Rabastan been in his place, he would have asked more been asking constantly. It was possible, he supposed, that Bellatrix had told him and alleviated his curiosity, but he couldn't imagine when that could have happened, and given how sharply and coldly they had been acting towards each other, he rather doubted it.

"You know, I had quite hoped that I would see the two of you here," said Lucius, and Rabastan's musing was cut short.

"Oh?" asked Rodolphus, in a practiced, polite voice – the sort that he and Rabastan had been taught to use when they were children, but rarely employed, and especially not with someone who could be called a friend, as Lucius could.

"Yes. I had a question." Lucius's voice was not practiced or polite, but a pleasantly lazy drawl. He leaned against the wall and looked from one of them to the other. "About the two of you."

"What about us?" Rodolphus was doing the speaking, and not even looking at Rabastan – not that that troubled him; he was more than willing to let his brother talk for him.

"Well... is it true what people say?"

"That depends on what people say."

"That you two are, ah..." Lucius paused, his eyebrows drawing slightly together, then made a circle out of his left thumb and index finger, and put his right forefinger through the circle. He moved his hand back and forth a few times.

"What the Hell are you on about, Malfoy?"

Lucius dropped his hands impatiently. "That you two are _intimate_."

Rodolphus turned white, and Rabastan felt all the blood rush from his head and he swayed on the spot.

"Who told you that?"

"Narcissa Black."

"And who told _her!_"

"Her sisters, I assume. Is it true, then?"

"You're sick, Lucius. We're brothers!"

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time that Lestranges have, ah, kept it in the family, would it?" Lucius looked directly at Rodolphus, who swallowed hard.

"Is this some sort of blackmail, then?"

"So it is true?"

Rodolphus looked at Rabastan, as if expecting him to answer. When he didn't, Lucius appeared to take their silence for assent, and let out a short, triumphant laugh.

"I knew it."

"What do you want from us, then?" Rabastan asked. His face was flaming, and every part of his mind was telling him to deny it, but he didn't expect Lucius to accept any denial now.

"Want from you? I don't want anything from you. Unless there's something you want to give?" Lucius tilted his head and smirked, running his eyes up and down Rabastan again, and he felt his insides shrivel with embarrassment.

"You watch what you say," Rodolphus said sharply. "You don't want people thinking that _you're_ a queer, do you?"

"What do I care what people think about me?" Lucius waved a hand airily, the smirk never leaving his face.

"No one would want to marry you – the Blacks certainly wouldn't want to marry their last daughter to you."

"Wouldn't it be funny if they did?" Lucius mused, seeming quite unperturbed. "Three daughters, all married to queers. Poor luck for the Blacks – of course, it's not true, in my case, but still..."

Rodolphus spoke through gritted teeth. "I don't think you grasp how serious–"

"I think _you_ take things far too seriously," Lucius interrupted calmly. "My God, Rodolphus, it's not the nineteenth century anymore – no matter how much our parents would like us to believe it is. What do you think is the worst thing that could happen to someone if people thought they fancied men? No marriage prospects?"

"Years of shame and disgrace upon the family."

"You're being very theatrical. Even Muggles don't think it's a crime anymore, and here you are, acting like you've committed some sort of mortal sin..."

"Clearly, your circumstance is different," Rodolphus said through gritted teeth. "Your family doesn't rely on you being married to a Black – if the only person who will take you is a Mudblood, your family would–"

"Now, let's not be petty." Lucius's voice took on a slight edge. "We do have our standards. But if I couldn't marry Narcissa, you know, I think that I would be quite happy to go unmarried."

Rodolphus snorted. "It's lucky for you that you have that choice."

"So it is." Lucius tipped his head. "But, you know, I would rather maintain the choice than be forced to remain unmarried – and I'm not particularly interested in being involved in some sort of obscene gossip involving you two."

"Then you'd best not be spreading tales about us," Rodolphus said, and Lucius snorted.

"I'm not interested in spreading obscene gossip either. What do you take me for? What would I have to gain by telling people what you two do when no one's watching?"

It sounded so _crude_ when he said it.

"I was only curious," Lucius continued, then glanced to either side and stepped closer to them. He leaned in so that his mouth was very close to Rodolphus's ear, and only slightly further from Rabastan's, and whispered, "but if I were you, I'd watch my back. _I'm_ not interested in spreading gossip, but there are other people who might be, and if, say, Cygnus Black got wind of you two, your marriages would be over like _that_." He snapped his fingers. "And I do get the impression that that matters to you."


	63. Chapter 63

Lucius flitted off then, back into the ballroom with none of the solemnity that Rabastan thought the moment should have had. When he was gone, Rodolphus slumped against the wall and ran a hand listlessly through his hair.

"Rod?"

"No one was supposed to know. No one was ever supposed to know."

Rabastan swallowed. "Is it true that Muggles..."

"Not between _brothers_, Rab! And what does it matter what Muggles think when they're such animals – they do all sorts of depraved things that we're above!"

Rabastan swallowed again and nodded. "Yes. Of course."

"Do you think he's going to tell anyone?" Rodolphus asked, as if Rabastan should know. He looked so frightened that Rabastan almost wanted to yell at him to pull himself together: he was the older brother; he was the one who was supposed to be assuring Rabastan that everything would be fine.

"I don't know."

"You don't suppose he really _does_ want to blackmail us..."

"For what? What do we have that he would want?"

Rodolphus looked at Rabastan like he was an idiot. "_Sex_, Rab," he whispered, and Rabastan flushed.

"He said that he wasn't..."

"Well, he might have been lying!"

Rabastan put a hand on his forehead. Spots were beginning to float in his field of vision. "I don't feel well."

Rodolphus was at his side immediately, supporting him in his arms and holding him upright. Rabastan closed his eyes and forced himself to take deep, even breaths, until the spots disappeared.

"I don't want to talk about it anymore," he said, when the feeling of faintness had quite completely passed.

"Fine," said Rodolphus, almost too quickly. "Then we won't talk about it."

"Oh, boys!"

The door of the ballroom had opened again, and Druella Black stepped out. Her cheeks were rosy, her fair hair slightly mussed, and she teetered on her high-heeled shoes. From head to toe, she was dressed in white, which made the pink spots on her cheeks stand out even more. The smell of her floral perfume was overpowering. She smiled her simpering-sweet smile at them, but her eyes were cold, even though they were glazed from alcohol.

"What are the two of you standing out here for? Do come in and join the festivities."

"Of course, Druella," Rodolphus said politely. Rabastan hoped dearly that Druella was too intoxicated to remember the last time they had been at a party together. He didn't greet her or look at her as he and Rodolphus stepped into the ballroom.

This Christmas party was every bit as lavish as all the others that the Blacks had ever held – perhaps even more so than usual. A few couples were dancing to the music played by the Blacks' little group of violins, but most of the guests were standing in their various knots with glasses of wine, talking and laughing brightly. Silver snow was falling from the ceiling. It faded away as it fell, but everything seemed coated in a fine shimmer of silver nonetheless.

Rabastan scanned the ballroom. He was aware of people glancing at him and then looking hurriedly away when they became aware of the state of his face. Maria was standing beside one of the huge picture windows, in conversation with Elisabeth Malfoy and Walburga Black. She had one hand on her stomach and the other held a glass of wine. Joseph and Cygnus were mumbling with their heads together on the opposite side of the room. Abraxas was standing alone, not even with a glass of wine, leaning against a wall and staring up at the falling snow. Sirius and Regulus Black were dancing together, and Rabastan felt a pang, for he remembered a time when he had been allowed to dance with his brother, and no one had batted an eye – or, at least, no one had cared enough to tell them to stop. Sirius and Regulus had no idea how lucky they were.

Rabastan heard a small, timid cough behind him, and turned around. Narcissa Black was standing there.

She was dressed in white, but while her mother had looked all the ruddier for her white dress, it had the effect of making Narcissa appear even paler. There was no colour at all in her face: the shadows of her features appeared blue-grey instead of pink or brown. Her limp, pale hair looked as if it had been twisted into sausage curls at some point, but now it was hanging as straight and flat as ever, unnaturally thin and only half a shade darker than her dress. Her wide, pale eyes were glassy, and from the way her eyebrows were slightly drawn up and together, she looked as if she was moments away from weeping.

"Rabastan," she said, her voice thin and fluttering. "I wanted to offer my deepest sympathies- oh." She raised a hand, but snatched it back at the last moment, before she touched his swollen jaw. "Is it very painful."

"Not so painful," Rabastan said quickly. Narcissa looked like she was going to fall to pieces at any second, and he didn't dare tell her that it was painful for fear that she would become hysterical at the thought. _Poor thing_, he thought pityingly, then wondered if people thought the same thing when they looked at him now, or when they had looked at him when he had been sick.

"And Rodolphus," Narcissa said. She looked up at Rodolphus quickly, then bowed her head. "You look very, very well."

"Thank you, Cissa," Rodolphus said. Rabastan felt a little jolt – he had never heard Rodolphus use a nickname for Narcissa before. She was, by far, the most distant Black sister. "You look beautiful."

_Looks like she's been starved and drowned, more like_.

"Thank you," Narcissa murmured.

"Have you been well?" Rodolphus asked, and he unwound his arm from around Rabastan's shoulder and touched Narcissa's arm. She jolted and looked up at him, her eyes going even wider.

"Well," she echoed. Her voice trembled. Rodolphus dropped his hand.

"Is Andromeda here?" he asked, but Narcissa didn't have a chance to answer.

"Yes. Andromeda's here."

Rabastan whipped around at the sound of her voice. Andromeda was standing with her back against the wall. Her arms were folded over her chest, and her eyes were narrowed into slits. She had a thick woollen shawl tucked around her arms and shoulders, disguising the shape of her torso so well that Rabastan couldn't even see the swell of her stomach.

She straightened and stepped towards them, and though she had no weapon, her stance and the look on her face were identical to how she had looked when she had a candlestick in her hands.

"Been well, have you, Rabastan?" she asked, spitting every word out with hatred and revulsion that Rabastan would once have thought impossible from her. Andromeda, his once-friend, a woman who he had kissed, who he had felt pity for, who he had _never_ hated, not _ever_, was looking at him with so much loathing that one could never have known that she had once taken him for a friend as well. "Have you been enjoying spending time with your brother?"

"Andromeda," Narcissa whispered, but Andromeda didn't even look at her.

"You might want to know, Rabastan, that I lost my baby. _Apparently_," her voice turned slightly shrill, "beating a man as close to death as I could wasn't good for it."

"I- I'm sorry," Rabastan stammered. He didn't know what else to say. The ballroom seemed to have gone very quiet. The violins had stopped playing.

"I'm not. I never wanted the thing." The shrillness had gone from her voice, and now it was unnaturally cold, as if she felt as much disgust for the unborn baby as she did for Rabastan. "I'd sooner have seen you dead on the floor than carry your father's baby."

The ballroom went dead silent, then there was a crack of glass breaking. Rabastan looked, and saw that Joseph had dropped his wine glass. A puddle of crimson liquid was spreading out from his feet. Andromeda looked too, and her lip curled with disgust.

"You heard me."

"Andromeda," Joseph rasped, and his voice carried through the ballroom. He wasn't looking at Andromeda, but around the room, for everyone's eyes had turned to him. "I would never–"

"What good do you think lying's going to do now, Lestrange?" Andromeda asked, raising her voice. "It's just a pity that you wasted the baby on me, when your wife was so desperate."

"Maria is- is with child–"

"Yes, but it's not yours, is it? Maybe, instead of wasting your time fucking me, you should have been paying a little attention to your wife. Maybe, if you had, you would have worked out that she was spending a little too much time with her favourite son."

Maria let out a little whimper, but Rabastan wasn't paying attention to her. He was looking to Rodolphus, who had gone as white as paper. There was a pleading expression on his face, and Rabastan could almost hear him mentally begging. _No, please, Andromeda, don't say it. Please, I've never done anything to you._

If Andromeda was aware of Rodolphus's desperation, she didn't care.

"It seems like Rodolphus has a little difficulty working the difference between family and lovers. First with Mummy, then with Rab – or was it Rab first? Doesn't matter! But then, we always knew what runs in the Lestrange family. Maybe Joseph would have had less difficulty getting Maria pregnant if they weren't cousins seven times over!"

Druella, Rabastan saw, was smirking, and Andromeda must have seen too, because she turned on her.

"Oh, don't think it's only the Lestranges either, Mother! Don't stand there smiling like you're better! You know what Father did to us! You know that he's driving Cissy so mad that she'll end up like Aunt Cassiopeia, but you pretend not to see because you're living a made-up life – well, welcome to the real world, Mother! You're married to a man who would rather use his daughters than touch you!" Her voice had risen to a shout. "Your eldest daughter is whoring herself out to the Dark Lord, because all she knows how to do is torture and kill, and he'll let her do that for him! Your youngest daughter can't tell up from down, much less right from wrong! And you just don't realize it, do you? You think I'm the only part of your life that isn't perfect, because I'm the only one who's got my eyes open wide enough to see that everything is wrong! Everyone in this room is guilty; don't any of you see it?" She looked around wildly. "You've all got closets full of skeletons, and all of you know them too, but you're too scared to say a word, because all those people know secrets about you as well! But I'm not scared! What can you do to me that hasn't already been done?"

"_Andromeda Black Lestrange–_" Druella began, in a scream, but Andromeda cut her off with an even louder scream.

"Don't you _dare_ call me a Lestrange ever again, don't you _dare_! There's not a woman alive who would want to be Rabastan Lestrange's wife, and not just because he'd sooner be with his brother! Look! Look at this!" She grabbed Rabastan's left arm and jerked the sleeve back, then thrust his arm into the air. The Dark Mark branded on his skin gleamed black-on-white in the chandelier light. "I suppose all of you think this is something to be proud of, don't you? You think that this is about cleansing the Pureblood race, don't you? Not one of you ever stops to think that the Dark Lord is just organizing murder! You like justifying it, don't you, by saying that Muggles are hardly people, but they are! I'm not married to some brave crusader for the safety and purity of the Wizarding world, I'm married to a murderer!"

She broke off only to draw breath, and shoved Rabastan away.

"No matter how uncivilized Muggles are, no matter what sort of abominations Mudbloods are, they can't be any worse than the likes of all of you. You're all the real animals, the real monsters, not them. Everyone in this room is bound straight for Hell, and if you want to rot there, then I won't stop you, but don't expect to bring me down with you!" Her eyes were crazed, manic, and her voice echoed threateningly in the room. "I'd sooner live a life with a Mudblood than ever lay eyes on any of you again." She started to back away slowly towards the door, keeping her eyes on all of them. No one seemed able to move. Rabastan's mouth was dust-dry.

"A better woman than I wouldn't let you go on living," she hissed. "A better woman would kill every soul here tonight. I suppose you've all made me into a bit of a coward too. But at least I have the grace to admit it. And at least I have the grace to end it now."

Then she was out the door, and it banged shut behind her, and everything went absolutely silent.

Rodolphus's hand shook against Rabastan's. The wine around Joseph's feet was sinking into cracks in the floor, outlining each of them in sharp crimson so the previously flawless surface seemed riddled with cuts. Then Maria let out a little cry and crumpled to the ground.

That set off movement again, and people crowded around her, bustling and asking loudly if she could hear, trying to turn her over and look at her face. Rabastan didn't move any closer. Even from the distance, he could see the blood spreading out from between her legs.


	64. Chapter 64

Rabastan was frozen in place, transfixed by the sight of the blood spreading slowly across the floor, but Rodolphus indulged in no such hesitation. He was at Maria's side immediately, and he knelt over her and slapped her cheeks and hands.

"Mother. _Mother!_ Can you hear me?"

"Mm." Maria's eyes were closed, but she whimpered and raised a hand, and Rodolphus caught it in his and squeezed it tightly. Rabastan could see his fingers trembling.

"Get off," Abraxas Malfoy said sharply. He gripped Rodolphus's shoulders and lifted him away, then drew his wand. "She needs a bed."

"Oh! There's a bedroom just up the corridor- follow me," Druella said, her voice shrill and wavering, and she stumbled towards the door, barely managing to keep steady in her high-heeled shoes. Abraxas waved his wand and Maria rose off the ground, hanging as limply as if she was floating in water. Her hair was coming out of its elaborate curls and it hung pathetically down towards the floor.

Joseph followed quickly as Abraxas bore Maria out, and the rest of the partygoers crowded after them, curious and excited by the event, and probably eager to leave the scene of Andromeda's outburst. Rodolphus sank back onto his knees beside the puddle of blood. There was blood on his fingertips, and he stared at it with a sad, lost look. Rabastan managed a few shaky steps towards him, but he was cut off by Bellatrix, who came rushing forward and fell to the ground beside Rodolphus. She flung her arms around him and clutched him tightly.

"Rodolphus- oh, Rodolphus–"

"Get off," Rodolphus said flatly. Bellatrix ignored him.

"I can't believe she said those things about you- and in front of–"

"Get _off!_" Rodolphus's voice rose to a shout and he pushed Bellatrix away and stumbled to his feet. "I- Mother is- I have to be with her."

"Rodolphus..." Bellatrix looked up at him, and there was a wary expression on her face. "Oh, Rodolphus, you didn't... what Andromeda said wasn't true, was it?"

Rodolphus had his back to Bellatrix, which was a mercy, because Rabastan had never seen anyone look so guilty. If she had seen his face, Bellatrix would have undoubtably known – but he bent his head and didn't answer her, and that was as good as a confession.

"Oh, dear God..." Bellatrix's voice came out an agonized whisper. From the way she was sitting – skirt pooled around her, and hands clasped in front of her breast – she looked more like a painting of a martyr than like the woman Rabastan knew she was. "Rodolphus... why didn't you tell me?"

He didn't answer her. He pushed past Rabastan and rushed towards the door, and he was out before Bellatrix could say another word – not that she looked very much like she had anything else to say to him. Rabastan looked at her guiltily, wondering whether he ought to say something – should he comfort her? Or should he leave then and let her think things through alone? After a long silence, she looked up at him and whispered, "Did you know?"

Rabastan bit down on his lips. He didn't know how to answer. He didn't _need_ to answer.

"Of course he'd tell you and not me," Bellatrix said, more to herself than to him, then she pressed her hands over her face and lowered her head. "My God..." When moved her hands, her eye makeup was streaked around her eyes. For half a second, Rabastan was tempted to go to her and wipe her eyes for her, but before he could even fully process the urge, her face had hardened and she was standing up.

"I'm going to kill Andromeda," she mumbled, wiping her eyes roughly and standing up. "How _dare_ she- no, get away, Cissy!" Narcissa, who had been hovering in a corner, had stepped towards her with her arms outstretched like a toddler wanting to be picked up. "I don't know how she had the nerve to say such things about us- her _family!_" Bellatrix stormed out, leaving Rabastan and Narcissa shaken in her wake.

Rabastan took a moment to gather himself, then followed her out of the ballroom and cast around, searching for where Maria might have been taken. There was a fine trail of drops of blood leading up the stairs, and Rabastan followed the marks at a sprint, heedless of the pain in his hips, his knees, his feet, and every other part of him that was moving. When the trail finally ended, it was at a closed door, and Rodolphus was slumped against the wall across from it with his head in his hands.

Rabastan stopped short, and Rodolphus looked up at him. There were tears in his eyes.

"Did you tell her?" he asked in a low voice.

"Did I tell..."

"Andromeda. About me and Mother."

"No!" Rabastan felt tears welling in his eyes. "I would never have!"

"Then how did she know?"

"I don't know!"

Rodolphus drew his knees against his chest and pressed his forehead against his knees. "Why did she tell them?" he asked weakly. "I never did anything to Andromeda- never did anything to hurt her..."

Rabastan sank down beside him and reached out to put his hand on his shoulder, but before he could even touch him, the door flew open and Joseph stepped out. His face was stark white.

"Is it true?" he demanded, and Rodolphus flinched.

"Father..."

"Stand up when you talk to me!" he ordered, and Rodolphus stood immediately, but kept his head down. Rabastan stayed on the ground, terrified.

"Is it true, what Andromeda said? Is it your child?"

"No, Father," Rodolphus whispered.

"Don't lie to me!"

"It's not mine, Father!" Rodolphus looked at him pleadingly, and though they were near the same height, Rodolphus looked like a child quavering under Joseph's stare. "Father, how could you think-"

Joseph slapped him so hard across his face that Rodolphus's head cracked against the wall. "There's no punishment strong enough for this," he told him in a snarl. "I ought to beat you raw. I ought to snap your worthless neck."

"Father!"

Rabastan had never seen his brother cower or look so terrified, but he'd never heard his father sound so dangerous either.

"Joseph, let the boy go!" Abraxas had stepped out of the room, and he grabbed Joseph's arm and pulled him back. "Surely this can be saved for a moment when your wife is not bedridden!"

Joseph looked for a moment as if he was going to throw off Abraxas, but he didn't, and he stepped back grudgingly. His face was flushed crimson and he was breathing heavily. He hadn't even given Rabastan a glance, yet Rabastan couldn't move for fear. Rodolphus was shaking violently, a red mark appearing on his cheek.

"I've had Cygnus send for a healer," Abraxas said to Joseph. He spoke loudly and clearly, enunciating every sound as if he was speaking to someone half-deaf. "Does Maria have one who usually attends her?"

"Yes," Joseph muttered through gritted teeth.

"Then perhaps you should contact him."

"Yes. Of course." Joseph cast one last glance at Rodolphus, then jerked his arm out of Abraxas's grasp. He turned and strode down the corridor as quickly as he could go without running. As soon as he was gone, Rodolphus put his hand against his cheek where he'd been struck and rubbed at the mark.

"I've sent people away, but Druella and Elisabeth are with her," Abraxas continued, turning now to Rodolphus. "I thought it would be best for her not to be entirely alone."

"Thank you, sir," said Rodolphus shakily, then added, "Is it- is it a miscarriage?"

"It seems so. The shock..." Abraxas shook his head. "It must have been dreadful for her to hear Andromeda saying such lies."

He stressed the word _lies_ very slightly. Rabastan tried to catch his eye, to see whether it had been intentional, but he didn't look at Rabastan. He was staring directly at Rodolphus, with a very serious expression. Rodolphus swallowed.

"It... it must have been."

"Rodolphus," Abraxas said, in a voice so low that Rabastan could barely hear it. "I'm going to give you some advice, and I want you to listen very closely. Admit _nothing_. Concede _nothing_. And if there _is_ any truth to what Andromeda said..."

Rodolphus opened his mouth, but Abraxas raised a hand, then whispered, "Tell _no one. _Not even me."

Rodolphus pressed his lips back together and nodded silently.

"As far as anyone else knows, what Andromeda said was a blatant lie. No one is going to consider her a source to be quoted. No one wants to admit publicly that what she said about _them_ might have been true. Keep a level head, don't show any guilt, and no one will need to know what is and isn't true. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir," Rodolphus whispered, then added, "Why are you telling me this?"

Abraxas's lips twitched, but there wasn't even a hint of amusement on his face.

"Andromeda was right about one thing," he said. "We all have skeletons in our closets. We all have things that we don't want anyone to know. It's our responsibility to help other people hide theirs."


	65. Chapter 65

Cygnus Black came hurrying down the corridor, with a stranger in medical robes in tow, and Abraxas stepped away from Rodolphus to usher them into Maria's room. Once again, Rodolphus and Rabastan were left alone, and a painfully tense silence settled over them as both of them listened intently to the sounds of what was happening behind the door. They could hear the healer murmuring, and then Maria's shrieks, all too clearly.

"Do you think the baby might live?" Rodolphus whispered, as if Rabastan might know somehow. "Do you think it has a chance? It's been seven months – do you think that's long enough?"

"I don't know," said Rabastan, and winced as a pained scream pierced the air.

"I- I have to help her–" Rodolphus lunged for the door, and Rabastan barely managed to catch him and hold him back. It took all his strength to hold on, and even then, he was so light, so weak that he was hardly holding Rodolphus back, and he wished more desperately than ever he had before that he was big and strong enough to be able to keep his brother out of that room.

"You don't have to help!"

"Of course I do! It's my baby!" Rodolphus shook at Rabastan, but he was trembling so badly that he couldn't quite dislodge him. "She can't just lie in there with Elisabeth and Druella and Abraxas, without me or Father or _anyone_ who really cares about her–"

"When did you start caring about her?"

Rodolphus froze.

"I- I do... I do care about her..."

"I didn't know you wanted the baby." Rabastan's mouth seemed to be working without his mind to control it. "I would have thought that you'd hate it, and her!"

"She's my mother..."

"She _raped_ you!"

Rodolphus hit Rabastan across his face. It wasn't just a slap, but a deep, hard blow that sent Rabastan reeling and sprawling on the ground. He was sure he felt his jaw crunch out of place, and he clutched at it as fresh, agonizing pain shot through his face and neck.

"Don't say things like that!" Rodolphus shouted, and Rabastan could only whimper in response. Tears gathered in his eyes and spilled down his throbbing cheeks before he could even try to stop them, and then Rodolphus was on his knees and gathering him into his arms and wiping his tears away.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Rab, I didn't mean to hit you. Oh, God, what have I done?" His voice cracked. "I don't know what I'm doing. I'm- I'm just so upset- it's not your fault, you didn't do anything wrong. Please forgive me, Rab, please..."

Rabastan nodded and buried his face in Rodolphus's robes, trying to sniff back his tears. "I d- didn't mean t- to make you angry."

"Of course you didn't." He rubbed Rabastan's back gently. "You're right- but- I just- it's- it's still _Mama._"

Calling her _Mama_ – a name that Rabastan hadn't used since he was four, and he couldn't remember Rodolphus _ever_ using – made Rabastan's throat tighten.

"So what if it is?" he managed to choke. "That just makes it worse- what she did to you."

Rodolphus didn't answer, but rested his chin against the top of Rabastan's head and held him tightly, and Rabastan didn't press for any further response.

Maria screamed again from in the room, and Rabastan felt his brother tense, but he didn't move. The screaming wasn't stopping, and the tone had changed – no longer did it sound simply as if Maria was in pain. Now she sounded like she was afraid – no, _horrified_.

Rabastan looked at the door, and then up at Rodolphus, whose face had gone grey.

"What do you think–" he began, but before he could finish his sentence, the door banged open and the healer – covered to the elbows in blood – came rushing out. He was clutching something wrapped in a bloodstained sheet.

"What is it?" Rodolphus asked. "What's the matter? What's happened?" He let go of Rabastan and reached out to grab the healer's arm, and when he did, the bundle slipped out of his hands and landed on the floor with a muffled _thump_. The healer froze. Rodolphus stooped to pick it up, but when he did, the sheet fell back to reveal what was wrapped in it, and he screamed just as Maria had.

Rabastan couldn't scream. He felt like someone had closed a fist around his throat.

He couldn't call the thing that he was seeing a baby – even two long, important months before a baby was supposed to be born, it shouldn't look like _this_. He couldn't even call it a corpse. It looked more like something out of a nightmare than something that could actually have lived and breathed.

The _thing_ in the sheet was covered in blood and mucus, and where it wasn't stained red, grey, papery skin was visible. The skin was wrinkled and hanging off of exaggerated bones, without a healthy layer of fat to cushion them. Every prominent rib and vertebrae of the little torso was visible. Its legs couldn't have been more than two inches if they were straight, and they were curled in so tightly against its chest that they might have almost been fused to it. The _thing's_ arms were even shorter than that, and they ended in little clawed hands, conspicuously missing two and three fingers each. Its head was far too big for it, larger than the whole of its withered little body, and it lolled grotesquely to one side, with its tiny mouth stretched open like it could never close.

The healer snatched the _thing_ up and covered it with the sheet, and he ran, without so much as a word, or a glance back at Rodolphus and Rabastan.

"_Stop!_" Rodolphus cried, even as the healer rounded a corner and disappeared from sight. "Stop! No, bring it back! My baby! That's my _baby!_"

Rabastan had the presence of mind to clap a hand over Rodolphus's mouth, silencing his declaration of parenthood before he could say anything worse, but though he could think straight enough to do that, and though he still couldn't make a noise – and so couldn't shriek the way Rodolphus was – he was hardly less hysterical than his brother. Maria was still screaming from the bedroom, and Rodolphus was screaming too, through Rabastan's fingers.

Rabastan couldn't get the image of the _thing_ out of his eyes. Its eyes had been closed – thank God – but he thought he could almost see it staring at him, like the little demon that it might have been. Oh, God, he couldn't have counted the things wrong with it. He began to shake, and he could see nothing, not Rodolphus, not the walls around them, nothing except the _thing_ in his mind's eye.

Then Rabastan was being pried away from his brother, and a new pair of arms was around Rodolphus. Rabastan's vision had glazed over, and when he blinked and things came into focus, he saw Bellatrix holding him tightly. Rodolphus's screaming quieted. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and began to sob into her shoulder.

She held him for a long moment, then broke away, and turned to the doorway. The door was ajar, and there was no sound but painful silence beyond it. Maria had stopped screaming.

Bellatrix drew herself to her full height, then kicked the door all the way open and pointed sharply down the corridor.

"Out." Her voice was steel-hard and cold. "Get out. All of you. _Mother_," She spat the word, "I need to speak to you. The rest of you – out! Out of my house!"

She spoke with such authority that Rabastan didn't think it would have been possible to question her, and clearly no one else did either, for within seconds, Druella, Elisabeth, and Abraxas were all out of the room. Abraxas took Elisabeth's hand and led her quickly in the direction that Bellatrix was pointing. Druella, looking badly shaken, leaned against the wall and ran a hand through her fair hair. Her fingers were stained with blood, and it left a crusty red residue where she touched.

"Go on," Bellatrix said, looking at Rodolphus and tilting her head towards the door. "Your mother will want to see you."

Tears were spilling freely down Rodolphus's cheeks, but he nodded and stepped through the door, and Rabastan followed, though he had not been invited. The door clicked shut behind them, and the three Lestranges were alone in the darkened room.


	66. Chapter 66

Maria was lying on the wide bed, surrounded by red, though the sheets were white. Her red hair, her red dress, and the terrible, still-spreading red bloodstain made it seem like she was lying in a pool of her own blood, so deep it covered her. The room was darkened, all the thick drapes drawn so no winter moonlight could seep in, and there was only a small and rather ugly gas lamp burning in one corner. The light was enough for Rabastan to see tears sparkling on Rodolphus's face.

"Mother- oh, Mother," Rodolphus whispered. At first he hung back, clinging to Rabastan for support that Rabastan could not give, but then she lifted one hand slowly in a gesture that could be considered beckoning, and he broke away and rushed to her, clutching at her and burying his face in her breast.

"Oh, _Mama!_"

Maria's eyes didn't open, but she laid one hand lightly on Rodolphus's head and twined her fingers through his hair.

"Did you see it?" she asked. Her voice was weak, but familiar still.

"Yes! Yes, I saw it- oh, Mama, what was _wrong_ with it?" Rodolphus shuddered visibly. "It was the most horrible thing I'd ever seen!"

Maria's hand stilled, fingers still laced in and out of his hair, and Rabastan saw her lips twitch down into a pained frown. She was silent for a long time, then said, in a terribly cold voice, "I suppose you weren't so healthy and virile as I thought."

Rabastan felt the statement like a punch to his stomach, and he could only imagine how many thousands of times worse it must have been for Rodolphus. His body jerked violently and he let out a little shuddering gasp.

"It's my fault? It's my fault it was like that?"

"It must be," said Maria, still without opening her eyes, or even moving. "You and Rabastan were not like _that_, so it can't be because of me."

"Oh, God." Rodolphus began to tremble. "I didn't mean to... I didn't know..."

Maria was silent, and Rabastan felt himself heating with anger. Could she not be bothered to give him some reassurance? It couldn't be Rodolphus's fault, not really, when she had forced him against his will to impregnate her. And there were other reasons that a baby could be malformed besides an unhealthy father, Rabastan was fairly sure.

But Maria didn't say as much, and she didn't make any sort of move to comfort Rodolphus. She just lay there, eyes closed, with one hand resting still and heavy upon his head. Then, after a time, she said, "The baby might have been all right, you know, if it had had a little more time."

"Do you think it could have?" Rodolphus whispered, and Maria nodded her head almost imperceptibly.

"Yes, I think so. If only I hadn't had such a shock as to be accused... to hear _our_ secret being told to everyone..."

"I didn't tell her, Mother!" Rodolphus cried, and now there was panic in his voice, on top of everything else. "I never would have!"

"But you told someone."

Rodolphus hesitated, and Rabastan wished he could catch his eye, tell him with a look to deny everything – _concede nothing, as Abraxas Malfoy had said_ – but Rodolphus had his face hidden in the folds of Maria's ballgown.

"Who was it?"

"Rabastan," Rodolphus whispered. "I told Rabastan, Mother."

"There, you see, you _stupid_ boy," Maria spat, and she pushed him away so hard that he went sprawling on the hardwood floors. "He told his wife. He told his wife, and now the secret is out. Didn't I tell you? Didn't I make it clear enough that you couldn't breathe a word to a soul?"

"Rabastan didn't tell anyone, Mama!" Rodolphus's voice rose hysterically. "He never would have!"

"Then how do you think she found out?"

"I don't know!" Rodolphus looked desperately over at Rabastan, but he couldn't move. He felt rooted in place.

"And she said you and Rabastan – I suppose I might have known it. I know you always were too attached to that pathetic little boy, letting him follow you about like a puppy; I might have known that you were letting him bed you, just like Druella said–"

But the only word Rabastan heard was _pathetic_. It rattled inside his head, echoed in Maria's voice, and the voices of everyone else who had ever called him pathetic or thought of him as pathetic, until he was so overwhelmed that he couldn't see straight. He began to sway, his blood rushing in his ears, and then Rodolphus's arms were around him, strong as ever, and guiding him to kneel on the ground beside the bed.

"Don't say things like that about him, Mother," Rodolphus said, and he sounded so much more like himself now – he sounded brave and stoic and protective, even though his voice was still edged with tears. Rabastan wanted to hold onto him and never let go, and to cover his ears so he wouldn't have to hear what Maria was saying, the way Rodolphus had done for him when he was young and sick and Rodolphus thought that the healers talking about his diseases would upset him.

"I'll say as I please about my own sons. Don't you give me orders, Rodolphus," Maria snapped.

"He's right here, Mother. He can hear what you're saying."

"All the better!" Maria's voice went shrill, and Rabastan saw her sitting up in bed. He hadn't noticed before that there were small streaks of blood on her face, like someone had wiped it with a bloody hand. Her hair, which Rabastan had never known to be less than perfectly curled and set, was wild and undone. "Did you see the baby too, Rabastan? It's your fault as much as Rodolphus's that it turned out like that! What possessed you to tell your wife?"

"I didn't!" Rabastan said, and was surprised to hear himself shouting. "I never did tell Andromeda about you and Rodolphus! Why would I do that to him?"

"How should I know? How should I know what goes on in that sick mind of yours?"

"Don't, Mother!" Rodolphus almost yelled. "Rabastan isn't sick, he isn't!"

"Listen to yourself, Rodolphus! Of course he's sick! He's always been sick!"

"Not sick in the head!"

"Both of you are sick in the head, if what Andromeda said is true! You make me ashamed to be your mother!"

"You make me ashamed to be your son," Rodolphus replied, and though Rabastan didn't believe that he quite meant what he said – not when, just moments before, he had been sobbing into Maria's breast – he still admired Rodolphus's nerve to say such a thing. Rodolphus turned away from Maria completely then, and lifted Rabastan gently. "Come on, Rabastan, come home."

Rabastan was happy to comply – he felt exhausted, winded, and all his injuries hurt more now than ever – but no sooner had he staggered to his feet and let Rodolphus lead him out of the bedroom than he was thrust from one argument between mother and child to another. Bellatrix and Druella were in the corridor outside, glaring daggers at each other. Narcissa was there too, shrunk back against the wall, clearly trying to make herself appear as small and unobtrusive as possible, and watching both other women with wide, frightened eyes. When Rodolphus and Rabastan stepped out, Bellatrix looked at them quickly.

"Rodolphus," she said. "Are you all right?"

Rodolphus shook his head, and Rabastan spoke up.

"Where's Andromeda?"

"She's gone," Bellatrix said hollowly. "She's not at her home. And there are... things... missing."

"She stole from us?" Druella asked, and Bellatrix turned on her, drawing herself up. She was taller than her mother, more imposing, and Druella shrank back slightly.

"Don't you see what's happened?" Bellatrix demanded. "Don't you even care what I just said? Your daughter is gone. And yes, yes Mother, she stole, but you can always buy yourself another string of pearls and another diamond ring, but you can't buy yourself another daughter!"

"Don't you take that tone with me!" Druella said sharply. Bellatrix let out a high, hysterical laugh.

"She was right about you, wasn't she, Mother? You can't see what's happening right in front of you – you'd sooner be in some make-believe world with Abraxas Malfoy and three perfect daughters! You're as bad as Father!"

"Bellatrix!" Druella was somewhere between screaming and crying. "Bellatrix, don't say that! I never knew what was happening – if I had, I would have put a stop to it– I love you, I love my daughters!" As if to prove how much she loved her daughters, she grabbed Narcissa and pulled her against her. Narcissa buried her face in her mother's breast and clung to her like a baby, and Druella stroked her hair emphatically.

"If you loved us, you'd be going after Andromeda, not standing here and doing nothing!"

"And how am I to know any better than you where Andromeda is going?"

"So, because you don't know what to do, you aren't going to do anything at all? _This_ is why you're so useless, Mother, this is why what Andromeda said about you is true!"

"Was she right about you too, Bellatrix?" Druella shot back. " About you and the Dark Lord?"

"She damn well was, and I'm not ashamed of it!" Bellatrix shouted. "Do you think I'm going to ignore the things you've done just because I'm not a model wife? Do you think that stops the things you've done from mattering?"

"I think people in glass houses shouldn't throw stones!"

"You really think that an affair is as bad as letting your husband have his way with your daughters?"

Rabastan was frozen in place, listening to them shout back and forth at each other, but then Rodolphus was pulling on his arm, dragging him away from the fight and down the corridor, and the last thing he heard from them was Bellatrix yelling, "I've got half a mind to take Cissy and go find her myself – and stay with her, wherever she is!"


	67. Chapter 67

"Why would she do it?"

Rodolphus had taken Rabastan home, and now the two of them were sitting in the parlour, waiting. Waiting for _something_ to happen. For Bellatrix to come home and explain what was happening. For Andromeda to appear and beg forgiveness – forgiveness that Rabastan would never in a thousand years give her, not after what she'd done, but that he'd like to hear her beg for nonetheless.

But neither of them appeared, and so Rodolphus and Rabastan were left in painful silence, broken only every so often, when Rodolphus repeated his question.

"I don't know," Rabastan said dully. "I never would have guessed she would."

"I always thought we got on all right..."

Rabastan nodded numbly. He'd thought so too. Andromeda hated their father, for good reason, and him, for reasons he was still not entirely sure of, but Maria had done little to her, and Rodolphus had done nothing at all, so why were they the ones who had suffered the most when she had decided to tell people's secrets?

Rodolphus stood and paced the room listlessly. He fetched a bottle of wine from a cabinet, but then only set it on the table, and did not drink it. Rabastan sat huddled on the corner of a couch, feeling weak and dazed and exhausted from hunger as well as shock. His eyes followed Rodolphus back and forth across the room, but all he was really seeing was the malformed baby. The image would not leave his mind.

When Bellatrix burst in at last, Rodolphus sank onto the couch, with movements so slow and heavy that he might have been swimming through molasses.

"She's gone," Bellatrix announced, in a voice that held the familiar tones of repressed tears. "Andromeda's run away. She's not coming back."

It took a moment for that to sink in. Rodolphus didn't react at all, just gazed dully up at Bellatrix, and Rabastan sat still, turning the information over and over in his mind for a long time, before he asked rather tentatively, "How do you know?"

"She told me she was going to leave." Bellatrix pressed her lips together and sank onto the edge of the sofa, beside Rodolphus. He made no move, either towards or away from her. "The day that she beat you, she told me that she was going to run away." Outwardly, everything about her voice and poise was cold and callous, as if she didn't care – as if, indeed, she was disgusted by the whole matter – but Rabastan could see through that thin veneer of harshness. "And now she's gone."

"Where would she go?" Rabastan didn't really care about the answer, but he was hoping that if he kept Bellatrix talking, she would take his mind off the dead baby.

"She told me–" Bellatrix paused and clenched her fists. Colour rose in her cheeks. "She told me that she was going to marry the man you attacked."

Rabastan blinked blankly at her, and Rodolphus looked at both of them with faint confusion. "The man Rabastan attacked? What man Rabastan attacked?"

"It seems like Rabastan got it into his head that it would be exciting to go out and torture the first person he came across," Bellatrix said derisively. "Stupid, wasn't it? What did you expect to happen, Rabastan – even if Andromeda hadn't known him, if he hadn't survived, do you think she would have taken kindly to some corpse lying about?"

Rabastan clenched his jaw and said nothing, and Bellatrix continued, her voice becoming ever more shrill, "And then, your _stupid_ brother was _surprised_ when Andromeda went and attacked him." She turned to Rabastan, and there was a look of utter disgust on her face. "I won't defend her attacking you on behalf of a Muggle, but really, Rabastan, you ought to have seen that coming! Did you really think she wasn't going to react at all to having someone killed on her property?"

Rodolphus looked to Rabastan, and his expression was hurt, afraid, and most of all, accusing.

"You never told me that you'd tried to kill someone."

When Rodolphus said it, it sounded so much worse. He said it as if Rabastan was some sort of monster.

"He's done a bit more than just _try_ to kill someone," Bellatrix put in, and her eyes narrowed. "Didn't you know, Rodolphus? I thought you two told each other _everything_."

"What's she talking about, Rab?" Rodolphus's voice was shaky. "What does she mean, you've done more?"

"Go on and tell him," said Bellatrix. "You're not ashamed of what you did, are you, Rab? The Dark Lord tells me you enjoyed it."

Blood was rushing in Rabastan's ears. He clapped his hands over them and rubbed his temples so hard that tears came to his eyes, but still he could hear their voices, Bellatrix taunting him and Rodolphus questioning – begging to be told something that he should never have to know.

The words burst from Rabastan's lips, and try as he might to snatch them back, he could not.

"I tortured and killed a man with the Dark Lord." Then, in haste, "He made me do it!"

"The way he told it, it didn't sound like he _made_ you do it," Bellatrix sneered. Rabastan didn't look at her, though he was burning with anger that _she_ of all people was trying to condemn his behaviour.

"What do you mean, he made you do it, Rab?" Rodolphus asked. He pulled himself slowly out of his slumped position. "Did he threaten you? Hurt you?"

There was a painful lump in Rabastan's throat. Rodolphus had no responsibility to ask such questions – indeed, he _shouldn't_ ask them. _He_ was the one who had suffered tonight, and if Rabastan were any sort of decent brother, _he_ would be the one rising up to protect him. If Rabastan were any sort of decent brother, he would be offering – nay, promising – to hunt down Andromeda and make her pay. But no, instead, it was Rodolphus who was preparing to fight for Rabastan's sake, because he thought that he had been hurt or threatened by the Dark Lord. The shame of it all was unbearable.

"He didn't do any such thing," Bellatrix snorted. "He didn't have to. You have an unreasonably high opinion of your brother's morality, Rodolphus. It's as if you don't know him at all."

"Rab," Rodolphus repeated, without sparing Bellatrix a glance. "Did he? Did he hurt you?"

"No," Rabastan whispered. "No, he didn't."

"Did he use the Imperius Curse?"

"No."

"Then what did he do? How did he make you do it, Rab?"

Rabastan covered his face with his hands. He couldn't stand it.

"He didn't _make_ him do anything."

"Shut up!" Rabastan shouted, and his voice cracked. "Just shut up! It's nothing to do with anything, it's not my fault what she did!"

"You almost killed her lover!" Bellatrix screamed back. "You tried to kill him, you _idiot!_ And then you just left him in the gardens, she said! She said she was going to run away because she wouldn't live in the same house as a murderer!"

"If she considered killing Mudbloods and Muggles murder–"

"That _isn't the point!_" She sounded positively hysterical by now. "I'm not blaming you for trying to kill a Mudblood, I'm blaming you for trying to kill a Mudblood _and not for a second thinking about the consequences!_ You can't really have thought that he just _happened_ to wander to the manor! Didn't it ever occur to you that he might have known Andromeda? Didn't it occur to you that she might not take kindly to you killing someone she knew? Didn't you think through what would happen? Didn't it even occur to you to try to hide what you did out of _some basic semblance of respectability? And!_" she added, red in the face from screaming, "how is it, Rabastan, that you managed to pay so little attention to your own wife that some Mudblood was able to find her and snap her up without you ever suspecting?"

Rabastan expected Rodolphus to defend him, but Rodolphus just sat there, as silent and vacant as if he hadn't heard a word, and that made anger boil in Rabastan. All these years in which Rodolphus had sworn that he would do anything to protect his little brother, and now he didn't bother to say even one word to shield him from Bellatrix's unjustified anger?

"What did you expect me to do?" he demanded. "She never had any interest in talking to me about who she was taking as a lover – and why should she? And why would I think that he was her lover, when he's a man?"

"You shouldn't have to _talk about it_ to _notice_ that she was fuckingsomeone else! You should have noticed that, at least!"

"This is rich coming from you!" Rabastan interrupted, and his voice rose to a scream. "You didn't ever notice that Rodolphus was fucking our mother!"

Bellatrix looked shocked – not offended or scandalized, simply stunned that he had said it. The rage drained from her face, replaced by pure surprise. Rodolphus leaned forward and buried his face in his hands.

It was only then that Rabastan really heard what he had just said.

"I..." he stammered. "Oh, no, Rod, I didn't mean–"

"Go to Hell," whispered Rodolphus, in a voice so low that Rabastan barely heard him.

"But Rod, I–"

"Shut up." His voice was flat, dull, and still terribly quiet. "Get out."

Rabastan didn't argue. He was ashamed. He was ashamed that he had upset his brother with such a stupid, terrible, thoughtless statement, and the shame made him angry at himself, and at Rodolphus for making him feel so terrible. He stood – his legs weak as jelly – and left the room without another word.

He didn't go up to the bed that he had shared with Rodolphus since he had been brought to the manor. Instead, he walked up and down darkened corridors until he found a closet filled with clothes that looked as if they hadn't been touched in fifty years, and he curled up in the bottom of the closet and closed the door behind him.

He buried his face in an old coat made of some sort of rough fur and breathed in the smell of dust and mothballs. It made him cough, and coughing made his chest hurt, but that suited him perfectly well. Maybe he would asphyxiate in the dust, and that would put all of this to an end.

The closet was nearly pitch-black. The corridor outside was lit only by faint moonlight, which issued in only in the thin cracks around the edges of the door. In the darkness, Rabastan could barely see his own hands, trembling and clenching with the effort it was taking for him not to burst into tears of self-hatred.

And with every movement of his hands, he saw the Dark Mark, burned on his arm, grinning up at him.

The Dark Mark was the closest thing to a comfort he had that night.


	68. Chapter 68

Rabastan wasn't entirely sure when he fell asleep, but he must have, because suddenly he was blinking up into cold morning light, and Rodolphus's worried face came into focus over him. Rabastan looked down hurriedly, immediately consumed by fresh shame.

"Rabastan..." Rodolphus knelt down beside him, his shadow obscuring the light. "Did you spend all night here?"

"Mmhmm." Rabastan's throat felt dry and rusty.

"Why?"

"I... didn't know where to go..."

"I was worried about you." Rodolphus reached out and brushed his hand against Rabastan's cheek.

"You told me to get out. You told me to go to Hell."

"Oh, Rabastan." Rodolphus sighed heavily, then put his arms around Rabastan and lifted him bodily to his feet. His legs, cramped from being folded under him all night, refused to hold him up, and he stumbled against his brother's chest. He tried to heave himself upright, not wanting to have to rely on Rodolphus for support – not right that moment.

"I said things last night that I regret," said Rodolphus. His voice was somber, serious, and, most of all, utterly composed. Shockingly composed, when Rabastan thought of all the things that had happened only last night. "So did Bellatrix."

"So did I," Rabastan croaked.

"You didn't say anything. Nothing that hurt me, at any rate. And you were upset."

"You had more reason to be upset than I did."

"Nonsense," he said briskly. "Andromeda libelled and abandoned you, Bellatrix was attacking you, you'd just witnessed a terrible, bloody miscarriage–"

"Of _your_ baby."

Rodolphus swallowed visibly, but his dignity didn't slip for a moment. "And you were already in a terribly delicate state, having been beaten, and you hadn't eaten right for days..."

Rabastan didn't think those were excuses. They certainly did nothing to alleviate the sick, sad, guilty feeling that gnawed the pit of his stomach.

"Please don't cry," Rodolphus said, with a whispered urgency at odds with his previous unemotional affect. Rabastan raised a hand to his face quickly, and found that, indeed, a few stray tears had coursed down his cheeks.

"It's Christmas, Rab," he continued, and the urgency was gone as quickly as it had come. "You can't be crying on Christmas, it isn't right. Now, come down to the kitchens, and I'll have the house-elves fix whatever you like."

"I don't have a Christmas present for you," Rabastan murmured. Despite everything else, that was what he latched onto. "I didn't think..."

"I don't want a Christmas present," Rodolphus was a little too quick to say. "Come on." He looped his arm under Rabastan's, and helped him walk down the corridor. Rabastan stumbled over his own feet at first, but managed to find a steady pace soon enough, and by the time they were at the kitchens, Rodolphus's arm was around him less for support than for intimacy.

"What would you like to eat?" Rodolphus asked.

Rabastan was stymied. He didn't _like_ to eat. It was a physical necessity, of course, and could be made more or less pleasant in approximate proportion to how slimy the food in question was, but there wasn't much that he willingly swallowed.

"Porridge," he said at last, for it was the only thing he could think of. "With strawberries."

"Yes, Master," squeaked one of the house-elves, and scurried off to the pantry. Rodolphus settled at the table, and Rabastan sat down rather tentatively beside him.

"Where's Bellatrix?" he asked, then immediately regretted it. He didn't want to hear about Bellatrix.

"Out. She left this morning. To see Narcissa, she said."

Rodolphus lapsed into silence after that, and Rabastan did too. It struck him that this was the first night in days that he had not shared a bed with his brother, and so the first night in at least as long that Rodolphus and Bellatrix had shared a bed. He wondered if they had taken advantage of their opportunity, and felt a flush rise on his cheeks. He looked down hurriedly, then glanced up at Rodolphus to see whether he had noticed, and saw him smiling slightly.

"What are you thinking, Rab?" he asked, in a soft, almost teasing voice.

"Just... whether you and Bellatrix... never mind," he mumbled, and Rodolphus laughed, actually _laughed_, though it was a falsely hearty laugh.

"We _are_ man and wife, Rab."

Rabastan's face burned, and he looked down, mortified. Rodolphus's newly sanguine behaviour was utterly strange to witness. Of course, there had been times – times that felt very long ago now – when Rodolphus had laughed and teased so, but Rabastan could barely remember the last time he had seen his brother smile or laugh without an undercurrent of sadness. It must have been before his wedding. And now, so soon after what happened to Maria...

"Master," a house-elf said timidly, and set a bowl of porridge before him. Rabastan prodded at it with his spoon, and was pleased to find it reasonably dry, not likely to stick to the back of his throat in the unpleasant way that slimy food did.

"That bothers you?"

"Of course it bothers me," Rabastan muttered, though the thought of Rodolphus and Bellatrix bedding each other was only a small fraction of what bothered him. But he couldn't very well say that he was bothered by Rodolphus not seeming miserable enough.

"Jealous?"

"Should I be?"

"Maybe." Rodolphus leaned in to kiss him, and Rabastan jerked back automatically.

"_Rodolphus!_" The kitchen was bustling with house-elves. "Rodolphus, you can't, not _here–_"

"Why not? _They're_ not going to say anything." Rodolphus jerked his head towards the house-elves, who were all turned quite resolutely away.

"What's the matter with you?" Twelve months of hiding what he felt for his brother, of keeping it as secret as he could manage, of hiding behind locked doors to make love and trying to make their intimacy look brotherly, after the shame and humiliation of being discovered by Andromeda and Bellatrix... "After what happened last night–"

"After what happened last night, maybe I've decided that I'm tired of skulking around and pretending to be a decent young gentleman, and having it all be for naught."

There was a time – not too terribly long ago either; perhaps only a day, if he was completely honest with himself – when Rabastan would have jumped at this chance. He would have clambered eagerly into his brother's arms, willing to have him on any surface that presented itself, and damn the consequences.

But after last night, he was unwilling to say "damn the consequences". After last night, he wanted to retreat into a secret corner and hide there, and he certainly wanted to take Abraxas's advice and deny everything.

It felt strange to be pushing Rodolphus away. It was a reversal of roles, certainly, and it felt doubly strange because there was a part of Rabastan – situated in the deepest part of his stomach – that very much _didn't_ want to push Rodolphus away. He was entirely unused to having to be the one to make good decisions: Rodolphus had always made them for him.

"Not here," he whispered. "Not now."

"Rabastan–"

"Remember what Abraxas said?" Rabastan interrupted, keeping his voice low. "Deny everything. Concede nothing. It's going to be harder to deny everything if you're making passes at me in public."

"This isn't public. This is my own home."

"It's close enough to being public. And what if Bellatrix were to walk in?"

"Bellatrix already knows about us."

"_No_," Rabastan repeated. It pained him deeply to say it.

Rodolphus's lips turned down. If Rabastan did it, it would have been called a pout, but on Rodolphus, it was a beautifully pained frown, tinged with a knowledge that Rabastan was in the right.

"I was hoping to make up for what happened last night," he said quietly. "But I suppose this just... isn't the time."

The lost opportunity stung, and Rabastan's resolve weakened. He started to lean in, ready to recant what he had said, but no sooner had he placed his hand on Rodolphus's leg for balance, no sooner had his mouth come close to brushing against his, than the kitchen door burst open and Bellatrix came rushing in in a whirlwind. Her hair was loose and dishevelled, her face flushed, and snow lay white against the black of her hair and cloak. Rabastan and Rodolphus sprang apart.

"Oh, Rabastan is still here?" she said, but didn't wait for an answer. "All the better, the Dark Lord said to tell him too."

"Tell me what?"

"That we're all expected to attend dinner with him tonight." Bellatrix pulled off her cloak and cast it carelessly aside. A house-elf gathered it up and hurried away with it. "There will be others too. A meeting of certain, especially chosen Death Eaters, he said."


	69. Chapter 69

"What does he want with the three of us?" Rodolphus asked. Bellatrix, who was at the looking-glass, and studying her reflection with supreme intensity, shook her head.

"I haven't the first idea. If it had only been Rabastan and I that he wanted to see, I would have assumed that it was a gathering for his lovers – but unless you've been keeping even more secrets from me..."

"I would never touch him," Rodolphus said contemptuously. Bellatrix turned, and her eyes narrowed.

"Watch what you say."

"Why, do you think I'll offend him by saying I don't want to go to bed with him? Do you think his ego is that fragile?"

Bellatrix pressed her lips into a thin line. "You offend _me_ when you don't speak of him with due respect. I think, Rodolphus, that you forget that he is our master."

"Your master, perhaps. Not mine."

"You took the Dark Mark. He is your master now, no matter what your personal feelings towards his relationship with me are." She was quite occupied with arranging a curl of hair on her forehead, but the intensity of her smug smile made it perfectly clear that she was paying far more attention to Rodolphus's increasingly red face in the mirror.

"Leave it," Rabastan whispered. All day, he had been forced to listen to Rodolphus's paranoid speculations about exactly what the Dark Lord might want with them. He was in a state of supremely agitated nerves.

Rodolphus gripped Rabastan's arm hard enough to leave marks, and though Rabastan winced, he didn't make any attempt to get him to let go. Bellatrix, apparently finally satisfied with her appearance, turned from the glass and looked at them. She caressed her forearm lightly and her lips curved into a smile.

"Come on, then," she said. "We wouldn't want to keep him waiting, would we?"

"Suppose not," Rodolphus mumbled. That assent clearly satisfied Bellatrix, for she Disapparated then, and Rodolphus and Rabastan followed.

As usual, the Dark Lord's flat was crowded with people already lounging about with wine and talking amongst themselves, but the people who were there were certainly not the usual group of Death Eaters. Gone were Abraxas Malfoy and Cygnus Black and other men of their age: almost none of the people present looked more than a few years older than Rodolphus. Rabastan recognized a number of them from Hogwarts, but there were almost as many that he didn't recognize at all. There was even one other woman, a rather short and dumpy one sitting very close to a hunched-over man who might have been only slightly taller. The woman raised a hand in greeting, to which Bellatrix responded gracefully. Lucius Malfoy was sitting on the floor with his legs outstretched and a glass of wine in his hand, and he acknowledged the Lestranges with a nod.

"Ah, come in," the Dark Lord said, and ushered them inside with a wave of his hand. "Wine?" He did not wait for a response before waving his wand and producing three glasses for them. Bellatrix took hers without hesitation, and Rabastan followed suit, for he was eager for something to calm his nerves, and much though he doubted wine would do the job, it was better than nothing. Rodolphus studied the glass for a long moment before taking it rather tentatively.

"Sit," he said. Bellatrix perched on the edge of the couch, next to the witch, and also in the closest position to the Dark Lord's seat. Rodolphus stood still, watching her, then looked resolutely away and joined Lucius on the floor, and Rabastan sat next to him. The Dark Lord took a sip of wine from his own glass, then drew himself up in his seat – Bellatrix watched with such rapt attention that it was almost amusing – and spoke.

"I am sure you are wondering," he said, in a captivatingly authoritative voice, "why you were called here tonight – and, moreover, why other people who have previously been active and omnipresent in our little group were not."

A murmuring of assent went around the room.

"I am sure," he continued, "that you have all had moments in which you disagree with your elders about the ways in which Witches and Wizards should deal with the ever-present problem of Muggles. Many people who are old enough to remember the war approach the issue with caution, and they cannot be blamed for that. They believe that Muggles, like wild animals, are best left to their own and not baited, for they have seen the damage that Muggles can cause to each other, and to us. You have all heard stories, have you not, of the explosions in London? The Blitz, it was called. Fifty-seven nights of Hell, and upwards of two hundred thousand people – Wizards and Muggles alike – dead and wounded. The Muggles thought nothing of it. It was merely another barbaric war tactic. Most who remember that fear the Muggles, and rightly so."

There was a chill in Rabastan's stomach, and he could not take his eyes off his master.

"They fear them so much that they wish to remain as distant from them as possible – but we understand that by remaining distant, we will only ensure that, in time, the Muggles will cause such things to happen again. They have already created weapons designed for nothing but destruction – the destruction of millions of people in an instant. They have that power in their brutish hands that they do not understand. We cannot give them time to employ it."

"We cannot," someone echoed in a whisper. Rabastan could not take his eyes off the Dark Lord for long enough to see who it might have been.

"We," he went on, "are a new generation of crusaders for Wizarding purity. We must act without the fear of the destruction that older Witches and Wizards remember from the wars. We must be bold, fearless, _ruthless_ if we are to rid the world of the Muggles and Mudbloods who seek to destroy it – and us."

Another murmur went around the room, and several people were nodding.

"You all desire to see the end of the Muggles, do you not? The Muggles who caused the destruction of your family's livelihoods not yet thirty years ago? The Muggles who, even now, hold weapons that could destroy a country at a touch and have no more understanding of the danger than animals? Muggles who confine Witches and Wizards to madhouses and leave them to rot, driven so far to distraction that their powers are sapped?"

Rabastan shivered. He knew of all the awful things Muggles did, of course, but they seemed far worse when the Dark Lord spoke of them so.

"There will be people," he continued, "who call what we do hateful, who believe that Muggles and Mudbloods should be treated like Wizards, no matter the truth of the differences between us. There will be people who will wish to ignore the danger that Muggles present in favour of imagining a happier, safer world. There will come a time when people put the wars that the Muggles caused out of mind, and they will try to pretend that Muggles will not do us any real harm. You must never allow these people to let your convictions sway. We know – each of us here knows – that Muggles are a danger, and a plague upon the earth, and we must take it upon ourselves to end them, or suffer the consequences."

Near everyone was nodding now, with murmured interjections about the truth of the Dark Lord's words. He paused briefly, then went on.

"If we are to achieve our goals, I must be confident in your absolute allegiance – not only to our cause, but to me. When I give orders, I must be confident that you will recognize that I give them for our good, for the good of the Wizarding race. Nothing will be achieved if, in questioning me, you lose sight of our purpose. Can I be assured of the loyalty of every man and woman here."

"You may be assured of mine, my Lord," Bellatrix said immediately, and a chorus of voices joined her. "And mine- and mine- and mine!"

"And mine!" Rabastan said, and even Rodolphus added his voice to the rising wave of assent. "And mine!"

The Dark Lord watched, a smile upon his lips, until each Death Eater had given their assurance, and then raised one hand to indicate that they should silence themselves.

"I never doubted you," he said, then took his glass of wine and raised it. "A toast, then."

Rabastan scrambled for his glass and raised it as well. All around the room, people lifted their wine, less like a toast and more like an offering.

"To us," the Dark Lord said. "To our new generation of Death Eaters."


	70. Chapter 70

Rabastan felt dazed and dizzy after the meeting, and he struggled to stand up. Rodolphus put his arms out to help him, but he was unsteady too, and Rabastan had to cling to the wall to stop himself from falling. His head spun, and he breathed deeply, steadying himself.

When at last he was upright and clear-headed, the room was already mostly empty, with people filtering out quickly, mumbling among themselves. Bellatrix was leaning close to the Dark Lord, speaking in a low voice with an intent look about her.

"Are you all right?" Rodolphus asked, and Rabastan nodded absently.

"You shouldn't have had that wine," he said, eyebrows drawn together. He reached out and ran his thumb along the line of Rabastan's swollen jaw, and despite the obvious affectionate intent, Rabastan winced and pulled away.

"I'm fine," he said. "I can hold a glass of wine."

"I know you can."

"Rabastan," the Dark Lord interrupted. "Rodolphus."

They pulled apart quickly, and Rabastan drew himself up as tall as he could manage. Beside him, he could see Rodolphus doing the same, though Rodolphus hardly needed the added height. Bellatrix did no such thing: she lounged on the couch like a whore in a painting.

"Bellatrix has told me about your wife, Rabastan," he said, and Rabastan felt a hot flush rise on his face. He didn't want to have to admit to the Dark Lord how spectacularly his marriage had failed, not when the Dark Lord had opposed it.

"Your face," he added, and Rabastan touched his cheeks self-consciously. He could still feel where Rodolphus had touched his skin.

"It's nothing, my Lord," he murmured. "I am recovering."

"Too slowly." He drew his wand, and Rabastan was surprised to see Bellatrix flinch away slightly, just a tiny twitch of a movement. The Dark Lord did nothing to justify that response. He took Rabastan's chin between his fingers, drawing him forward. "Close your eyes."

Rabastan did as he was told. He felt the tip of the Dark Lord's wand touch his forehead, heard him murmuring spells under his breath, and a hot tingling sensation washed over him. It spread first from where the wand point touched him, then over his entire face, down his neck and into his chest. It spread along the length of his limbs, to his hands and feet, washing away pain in places that Rabastan had not even realized hurt. It pooled in the pit of his stomach, building until he was breathless with it, and when he thought he could stand it no longer, the Dark Lord's wand fell away, and was replaced by his other hand, smoothing over his skin.

"Perfect," he breathed. Rabastan opened his eyes and blinked, squinting at his reflection in the window. The deformities in his face were gone, and his features seemed smoother, sharper, more aristocratic than they had ever been. He glanced at Rodolphus, who looked stunned, and then at Bellatrix, who was leaning close and breathing heavily.

"Master," Bellatrix said, in a voice heady with awe, "your talent is incredible."

"I cannot have my Death Eaters suffering from injuries inflicted upon them by blood traitors."

Rabastan could not tell whether the statement was accusatory or not. "I'm sorry, my Lord," he whispered, and hoped that that was the right thing to say.

"For what people who do not have the strength of mind to understand our cause do? No, Rabastan, do not be sorry. Be sorry only that you did not kill the blood traitor who inflicted the injuries."

Rabastan's stomach lurched. "Master, I couldn't–"

He raised a hand to silence him. "On that day, you couldn't. There will come a day when you can."

"As you say, my Lord."

The Dark Lord held his gaze for a long moment, his eyes shining glossy and gold-tinged in the lamplight, then he looked away from him. "Rodolphus, I wish a private word with you."

Rodolphus swallowed audibly, and Rabastan could feel his sudden panic tangibly. "I beg your pardon?"

"A private word."

"I- what- with me, my Lord?"

"Yes, Rodolphus, with you."

"But..." He looked to Bellatrix and Rabastan. "But surely you would rather–"

"With _you_, Rodolphus," the Dark Lord repeated emphatically. "Bellatrix, Rabastan, you may go."

Bellatrix rose reluctantly. "Will you wish to see me later, my Lord?"

"Not tonight, Bellatrix, no."

"But..."

"_Out_."

Bellatrix's lips turned down into a sullen little frown for a moment, but then she collected herself and inclined her head. "As you say, my Lord, of course."

"Thank you, Master," Rabastan said, indicating his face once more, and the Dark Lord smiled slightly.

"It was my pleasure," he told him, then gestured to the door, and Rabastan followed Bellatrix out into the stairwell.

"Well!" Bellatrix burst out, the moment the door was shut. "I don't know what he wants so badly with your brother."

"Nor do I." Rabastan didn't look at her. He wanted to savour the memory of the Dark Lord's fingers on his skin, and his magic running through him, heating him to his core...

"It's a shame – I would have so liked... oh, I don't know how you can listen to speeches like that without getting..."

The pleasurable memories faded, and Rabastan glared at Bellatrix. She had paused on the landing of the stairs, and there was a dreamy, captivated look on her face.

"You get off on hearing about Muggles, do you?"

"I get off on hearing the Dark Lord talk about his plans for them," she said, and without a hint of shame. "He likes to talk about such things when we're in bed together – afterwards, you know. I think pleasure brings out the philosopher in him."

Rabastan snorted. "Or perhaps you're so dull a bedmate that his mind wanders."

"I take it he didn't speak of such things with you. Jealous?"

"Hardly." Rabastan could feel anger boiling in his stomach, and though he fought to keep his face smooth and unexpressive, he felt like he was seconds away from snapping.

"Liar." Bellatrix smirked and placed her hands on her hips. "It must hurt dreadfully to know that both the men you want would rather be with me."

Rabastan's fist missed her cheek by inches, and his knuckles slammed into the plaster wall behind her. Bellatrix began to laugh, and Rabastan drew back and struck at her again. This time, she put up her arm to protect herself, and his wrist slammed into hers with enough force to send a jolt straight up to his shoulder.

"Did I touch a nerve?" Bellatrix panted, eyes gleaming. "You know it's true, don't you?"

Rabastan didn't answer, and meant to strike at her again, but before he could, he heard a loud, rough voice calling out from the top of the stairs, "What's all the commotion about, then? Some of us are trying to–"

Rabastan almost didn't see Bellatrix's wand come out, she moved so quickly, and then a heavyset Muggle was tumbling down the stairs and sprawling at their feet. Rabastan jumped back out of the way, and Bellatrix jerked her wand, dragging the Muggle upright and slamming him against a wall.

"Just having a little conversation with my brother-in-law," Bellatrix panted. "Is that a problem?"

The Muggle made a strangled, winded noise, and Bellatrix laughed and slammed him against the wall again. The plaster crumbled behind his head, and a smudge of blood appeared on it.

Rabastan's hands moved without his orders, and before he knew what he was doing, his wand was out too, and the Muggle's blood was spattering over his hands. Bellatrix let out a high-pitched shriek of laughter.

"Didn't know you had that in you, Rabastan!" she cried gleefully, as the Muggle gurgled through the blood spilling from his mouth.

"I have a lot more in me than you seem to think." Rabastan slashed his wand through the air, and a gash appeared across the Muggle's chest. He arched and writhed and struggled against Bellatrix's spell, which was keeping him in place. "Andromeda told me what I did to her Mudblood, didn't she?"

Bellatrix's face hardened, and she seemed to rise up on the spot, growing taller before Rabastan's eyes. "And you were right to do it – filthy scum, doesn't have a right to live!" She cast her wand aside and her hands snapped around the Muggle's neck. "You hear that, Muggle?"

She shook him violently back and forth, and Rabastan, hot with excitement, joined in. He tore at him with his fingernails. The Muggle's eyes rolled back in his skull, leaving only whites visible, and he twitched violently between them as he bled out. Bellatrix's eyes were wide and crazed. She was spattered in blood and soaked in it up to her elbows, and Rabastan doubted that he looked much better.

At last, the Muggle went limp, and Bellatrix cast him aside, pulling him out of Rabastan's hands, then she raised her fingers to her mouth and slid them between her lips. Rabastan watched, transfixed, as she licked the filthy blood from her fingers. Her cheeks were flushed, her breasts heaving, and her pupils dilated. Rabastan dared not taste the blood on his own hands, but he clenched them into loose fists, rubbing skin against skin to feel the slickness, while his heart pumped double-speed. Every nerve in his body was alight, burning for more of the excitement that came with murder.

Bellatrix stared down at the Muggle, then raised her eyes to him.

And then, somehow, everything was a dark, wild blur of tangled hair and bloodied skin, and then her mouth was against his and his arms were locked around her waist and he _couldn't_ let go.

He wasn't sure exactly how long it was before Bellatrix broke away from him – long enough for the euphoria of murder to have faded, he supposed, for both of them. She released him at the very moment when the cold, sick feeling of horror settled in his stomach.

Bellatrix stepped back and wiped her mouth slowly with the back of her hand. Her eyes had gone rather wide, and now looked more scared than elated.

"Don't tell anyone," she said.

"Who would I tell?" Rabastan's voice was scratchy. He felt badly disoriented now, and slightly nauseous.

"Your brother."

"I wouldn't."

"Good." Bellatrix took a deep, shaky breath, and ran a hand through her hair. "I just- it was the excitement..."

"I know it was the excitement," Rabastan interrupted. "I hope you don't flatter yourself that it was anything else for me."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

He spat out the muddy, metallic taste of the Muggle's blood and Bellatrix's kiss, wiped his mouth, then asked, as evenly as he could, "What should we do with the body?"

"Let it be a sign," Bellatrix said carelessly, and all the regality that Rabastan had ever known her to possess returned to her. "Let it be a signal to all Muggles who hear of it that they are no longer safe, and that their reign of terror over Wizards is coming to an end."


	71. Chapter 71

Rabastan had his doubts about leaving the Muggle lying there – doubts surrounding whether it might cause trouble for the Dark Lord – but Bellatrix seemed to have no qualms, so he put them aside and joined her in returning to the manor. In the bright lamplight, the blood on both of them shone much more brightly.

"You ought to wash," Bellatrix advised him. "You don't want your brother seeing how filthy with blood you got, do you?"

"Mm." Rabastan scrubbed absently at his hands. "I suppose not. Are you going to..."

"To what? To wash?"

"No- go to bed with him?"

Bellatrix pressed her lips together and made a small, scornful noise. She swept past Rabastan and headed for the parlour, and he followed her, heart beating in his ears. Only when she had seated herself in one of the armchairs, leaving streaks of blood upon the leather, did she answer him, and her words were intentionally measured.

"What ever for? I've gotten used to sleeping without him. He'd sooner be with you." She spoke with obvious intentional carelessness, but Rabastan could hear bitterness in her voice. Just yesterday, he would have taken pleasure in her jealousy, but after the Dark Lord's rousing speech (and, he admitted to himself, after their shared murder), he felt a certain sense of kinship with her that had not been there before.

"You are his wife. You have rights to him that I never will."

"The rights to him that I have exist only in the minds of our parents, and you are naive if you think otherwise," Bellatrix told him. "His heart belongs to me no more than my heart belongs to him. And besides," she added, "when he and I are together, he's still thinking of you. He _adores_ you. It's a bit sick, really."

"More than a bit sick, I'd think," Rabastan said, but Bellatrix shook her head and waved her hand through the air, waving away Rabastan's suggestions of sickness.

"Not sick because the two of you are _brothers_," she scoffed. "I can't very well call _that_ sick when I know what he's done with your mother." Rabastan wanted to retort, but he couldn't think of what to say before Bellatrix went on. "It's sick that _anyone_ would fawn over anyone else like that. I don't even _think_ of the Dark Lord nearly as often as he talks about you. He's obsessed."

"He loves me."

"Maybe so. That doesn't mean he isn't obsessed." Bellatrix steepled her fingers beneath her chin and blinked up at him. "It's concerning."

"You're jealous," Rabastan accused her, privately pleased to finally be able to level the accusation at her.

"Dear God, no," Bellatrix snorted. "If he was just thinking about you in bed, I wouldn't mind in the slightest – there's nothing I can say to that when I think about the Dark Lord, after all. It's the way he talks about you when we _aren't_ in bed."

"How does he talk about me?"

"_Constantly_," she told him. She sat up straight, scrunched up her nose, furrowed her brow, pulled down the corners of her mouth, and spoke in an impression of Rodolphus. "_Do you think Rab looked a little sick yesterday? I think he looked flushed. Maybe I ought to check on him. I'm so worried, Bella, what if he gets sick? What if he dies tonight?_ It's exhausting."

"He... he says that sort of thing?"

"Constantly," she repeated.

"O- oh." Rabastan sank down onto the edge of the sofa across from Bellatrix.

"It must be comforting to know that there's someone who cares about you so much," Bellatrix said idly. She tipped her head back, her dark curls cascading over the edge of the chair, and stared up at the ceiling. "It must make you feel special."

A long silence dragged between them. Rabastan didn't know what to say. _Special?_ He supposed so, in a way. He didn't like to think about how dreadful his life would be if Rodolphus _didn't_ love him.

"There's no one who would be so distraught if I died as Rodolphus would be if you did," Bellatrix continued, after that period of silence.

"Narcissa–"

"Narcissa is so distraught about everything in the world that my death could hardly make an impression."

"Rodolphus would–"

"Be sad, I'm sure, but nowhere near the state he'd be in if you were dead." She raised her head and shook it slowly from side to side. "But it doesn't matter. I'm not interested in trying to force people to cry over my death. Especially when I'm not even dead yet. Now," she added. "You must go clean yourself up, and go to bed. What _would_ Rodolphus think if he found you drenched in blood and speaking to his wife?"

Rabastan was lost in thought as he undressed washed himself clean of blood, and climbed into bed – the bed that he had shared with Rodolphus for so many days now, Rodolphus's marriage bed, where his wife was no longer welcome.

He could hope (and hope he did, and _wish_) that Rodolphus loved him more than anyone else, and particularly more than Bellatrix, but to be told so was peculiar. Even before Rabastan had recognized lust as a part of what he had felt for Rodolphus, Rabastan had considered the depth of his love for his brother something of a secret thing. There had never been anyone besides the two of them who acknowledged it, except to reprimand them and call it unseemly. Certainly, no one had ever described Rodolphus as obsessed with his brother. And, Rabastan thought, with a hint of pride, Bellatrix was correct. It _did_ make him feel special.

He must have dozed off, lost in pleasurable imaginings of how Rodolphus spoke of him when he was not there, because the next thing he was aware of was a lamp being lit, and Rodolphus whispering, "Are you awake, Rab?"

"Mm." Rabastan sat up quickly, blinking in the sudden light, then sank back onto the pillow, head spinning.

The flickering of the golden lamplight illuminated Rodolphus's face. Rabastan rubbed his eyes and squinted at him.

"Have you been crying?"

In his surprise, the words spilled from his mouth before he could think of tact.

"I- of course not." Rodolphus brushed the back of his hand across his cheek self-consciously, but that did nothing to obscure the shiny tracks of dried tears. "I'm fine." He set about undoing his robes, and Rabastan saw the distinctive red half-moons on his palms that showed he had been clenching his fists.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing's the matter," Rodolphus told him, much too quickly. "Have you been all right – spending a little time with Bellatrix? I- I regretted letting the two of you go alone..."

Rabastan's stomach knotted. He could still hear her voice in his head, telling him that Rodolphus spoke about him constantly, but even more, he remembered the feel of her mouth against his, and the way his arms had betrayed him and embraced her.

"We... were fine."

"I suppose you two have more in common now than you used to..." Rodolphus turned away to drape his robes over the back of a chair, and his shoulders hunched visibly.

"What do you mean?"

"The Dark Lord."

Rabastan managed a very small laugh. "Sharing a lover is hardly a good basis for friendship."

"I didn't mean that." Rodolphus turned back, but kept his head down, looking at his own hands as he started to undo his shirt. "You two have such... such respect for him."

"And you don't."

"I thought I didn't," he murmured. "But after tonight... after the- the things he said..."

"The things he said to all of us, or the things he said to you when the two of you were alone?"

Rodolphus stiffened. He glanced up quickly, and then dropped his head again.

"I don't want to talk about what he said to me when we were alone."

"Why?" Rabastan was instantly alert, and what little instinct he had for protection was aroused. "Did he hurt you?" And then, for it was the only thing he could think of that would make Rodolphus cry, "Did he say something about Mother?"

"No!" Rodolphus said quickly. "Of course it wasn't anything like that! It's just... private."

"Did you fuck him?"

"Of course not!" Rodolphus looked up, defensiveness written all over his face. "What do you think of me?"

"Well, what did you expect me to think when you won't tell me what you talked about?"

"I expected you to know that I wouldn't go to bed with him. You _know_ me, Rabastan!"

"I expected you to share whatever happened there with me," Rabastan told him sullenly. "I thought we don't keep secrets from each other."

"You're impossible!" Rodolphus snapped, and Rabastan jumped. He hadn't expected such a vehement response, and certainly not _that_ response. "We- he- I don't have explain myself to you! Even if he and I _did–_"

"You _did_, then!" Rabastan retorted, in something close to a shriek. Saying it tore at his throat, and he dissolved into a fit of coughing. He fully expected to feel his brother's arms around him in an instant, feel Rodolphus's steady hand on his back, rubbing it, soothing him until the fit passed, but Rodolphus stood still and watched him.

"Rod," Rabastan choked, struggling to draw breath. "Rod, help- I'm going- to- be sick-"

And _still_, Rodolphus did not move. He stood, rooted to the ground, and stared at Rabastan while he struggled to draw air into his lungs. Tears blurred Rabastan's vision, and he leaned over the edge of the bed and gagged violently. He felt acid and wine burning his throat. Somewhere in the midst of throwing up, his coughing turned to violent dry sobbing, and then – only then – did Rodolphus catch him up in an embrace. Rabastan buried his face in Rodolphus's shoulder, still choking on his own breath, and he could feel Rodolphus's body shuddering against him too.

"Why didn't you–" Rabastan began, but he couldn't force all the words out, and Rodolphus didn't answer. He just held Rabastan close against him, and whispered, "I'm sorry," into his ear.


	72. Chapter 72

Rabastan slept uneasily that night. More than once, he woke up with fresh coughing fits, and each time, he felt a brief spell of panic before he felt Rodolphus's arms wrap around him, or his hand rubbing his back.

Rabastan couldn't remember a single instance in his life when Rodolphus had stood by and watched him suffer like that, even for a moment. Always before – _always_ – Rodolphus had been quick to react to even the slightest sign of his distress. Rabastan was used to being able to count on his brother to be there, to do everything within his power and more to help him. And now – now, Rabastan couldn't erase the image of his brother standing stock-still and watching him choke on his own breath.

The fourth time Rabastan woke up that night, it was not because of his own coughing, but because of raised voices – an argument, very close to him. He opened one eye and squinted up.

Bellatrix was sitting on the windowsill, bathed in moonlight, with her arms crossed over her chest. Rabastan was pacing back and forth in front of her.

"-what interest he has in you, in any case," Bellatrix was saying coldly. "We wouldn't have had this problem if he hadn't wanted to spend the evening with you so much."

"I would sooner not have spent an extra minute with him, as you very well know," Rodolphus snapped back, but his tone lacked conviction. "You'll have plenty of opportunity to be with him."

"You know, I don't believe that you _wouldn't_ have sooner spent time with him." Bellatrix slid off the windowsill and stood nose-to-nose with Rodolphus. Against the moonlight, their silhouettes looked like cameo pins.

Rodolphus laughed mirthlessly. "You and Rabastan get more similar by the hour. Next you'll be saying that you also think I fucked him."

Bellatrix bristled. "Did you?"

"Of course not!" The disgust was audible in Rodolphus's voice.

"Really?" Bellatrix tipped her chin up, and when Rodolphus started to turn away from her, she grabbed the front of his shirt and jerked hard at him. "What did you do, then? What did you do with him if you didn't fuck him?"

"We just talked." Rodolphus pushed her hand away roughly.

"About what?"

"It's none of your concern."

"Then why should I believe you?"

"It doesn't matter if you believe me, it's the truth!"

"You'd sooner have me go on believing that you fucked him, then?"

"I don't care what you believe."

"Fine." Bellatrix's voice, already shrill, rose a little more. "Maybe I'll just share my suspicion with someone else – Narcissa, maybe, and she can pass it on to our parents..."

"You wouldn't."

"Wouldn't I?"

"Bellatrix..." Rodolphus's voice went suddenly low and serious, and he took Bellatrix's hands and clutched them. "Bellatrix, _please_. I _didn't_. You _know_ I didn't..."

"I thought I knew you weren't fucking your mother," Bellatrix said lightly, and Rabastan felt sick to his stomach. He clenched his hands into fists and dug his nails into his palms. _How could she?_ How could she _say_ things like that?

"Bellatrix..." Rodolphus whispered, and he fell back half a step. "I couldn't tell you that. Surely you understand..."

"I don't like having secrets kept from me."

"Bella, please..."

"You know what would happen if I started a rumour about you and the Dark Lord, don't you? On _top_ of the things Andromeda said about you and your mother, and you and Rabastan... you know how people would sympathize with me, don't you? I'd come off as such an understanding wife, pushed to the very edges of sanity by a philandering husband who's had _three_ affairs since our marriage, two incestuous, two with men..."

"Please," Rodolphus repeated weakly. "Please, don't..."

"Then answer my questions. It's all I ask. I won't tell anyone. Just satisfy my curiosity, darling."

A pause, and then Rodolphus sighed.

"We talked about Rabastan," he said shortly. "It wasn't anything that would interest you."

"On the contrary, I'm very interested. What did he have to say about Rabastan?"

Rodolphus turned and glanced at Rabastan, who lay very still, with his eye only barely open.

"Don't go telling him..."

"I won't," Bellatrix said immediately.

"He'd be so hurt..."

Rabastan held his breath, listening so closely that it practically made his ears hurt.

"What did you say, Rodolphus?" Bellatrix's voice had gone soft, cajoling, and she reached out and put her hand against Rodolphus's cheek. "What did he say to you?"

Rodolphus swallowed audibly. "He said- he- Bella, it's really not so important, do we have to–"

"I want to know," Bellatrix told him, still softly, but with an edge of danger. "You're stalling."

"He's right _here_..." Again, Rodolphus looked at Rabastan, who lay stiff and rigid as a board.

"He's asleep."

"I know." Rodolphus looked away again, and sank back against the windowsill. "Well, what it really... what it came down to was that- he said that I ought not to worry about him so much, and that I'm not responsible for his wellbeing."

"That doesn't sound very bad," Bellatrix said. The disappointment was audible in her voice. "You _do_ spend too much time worrying about him. He's an adult, for God's sake, Rodolphus, and you treat him like he's nine years old. By the way you were acting, I thought the Dark Lord might have told you to kill him."

Rabastan's stomach lurched. He could feel a familiar sting in the back of his throat, and swallowed, terrified of coughing and interrupting the conversation.

"Don't you understand?" Rodolphus hissed through gritted teeth. "Don't you understand what would happen to Rabastan if I wasn't here to take care of him? Do you really think that he'd be able to take care of himself if I just- just stopped worrying about him? _Look at him!_" Rodolphus gestured wildly. "How long do you think he'd be able to survive without anyone to help him – a year, a month, _a day?_ If I stopped taking care of him, it would be as good as killing him!"

"He's been able to get on without you at Hogwarts, and when he was living with Andromeda..."

"And I worried about him every moment! There hasn't been a day that we've been apart that I wasn't worrying that I was going to receive an owl telling me that he was dead!"

The stinging in the back of Rabastan's throat was becoming worse. He swallowed, choking back coughs, and kept his narrowed eyes focussed on them.

"Don't you think you're a bit paranoid?"

"I _know_ I am!" Rodolphus grabbed Bellatrix by her shoulders. "I can stand being paranoid!"

She pushed his hands away. "Well, then, what is it that put you into such a state that you didn't even want to tell me what you and the Dark Lord discussed?"

"When he said it, I thought- I actually thought-" Rodolphus's voice broke. "He's not going to outlive me in any case – I thought maybe I _should_ just give it all up and let him die now!"

Rabastan couldn't stand it anymore. His throat felt like it was on fire, and he bent in on himself and let the coughing fit seize him. He hacked into his hands, vaguely aware of the coppery taste of blood coming up on his tongue, and behind the sound of his own coughing, he heard Rodolphus swear loudly, and then he felt warm, soft cotton against his cheek, and Rodolphus whispered, "Breathe. Just breathe," in his ear. When the coughing finally subsided, the shoulder of Rodolphus's shirt was speckled with blood.

"Can you hear me, Rab?" Rodolphus whispered, and Rabastan nodded numbly.

"Good." Rodolphus smoothed his hair back, as tenderly as ever. "That was an awful one."

There were not words enough in any human language to describe how awful Rabastan's coughing fit had been. Not because the coughing itself had been unusually strong – no, it was no worse than what he had been suffering for as long as he could remember – but because never before had he suffered a fit and recovered in the arms of someone who wanted him dead.

Rabastan looked past Rodolphus, to Bellatrix, who was standing some steps back and staring at them. Her eyes were wide, and her jaw slightly slack.

"Rodolphus?" she said quietly. Rodolphus didn't respond. Slowly, her eyes moved away from him, and latched onto Rabastan's.

Rabastan gave her an accusatory stare. Wordlessly, he tried to convey his thoughts – _you said Rodolphus loved me. You said it would destroy him if I died._

And while he could not be entirely sure, he thought he could tell from Bellatrix's expression what she was thinking. _I thought he did. I thought it would. I don't know how I could have been so wrong._

At last, wordlessly, she turned away and exited the room. Rodolphus didn't even look at her. He was too occupied with fretting over Rabastan, as if he _hadn't_ just said that he thought he should let him die.


	73. Chapter 73

Rabastan did not sleep for the rest of the night. When Rodolphus tried to curl against him, he pulled away. For as long as he could remember, the sound of Rodolphus's steady breathing in his ear had been a comfort. Now, it seemed sinister. Rabastan could not help but fear that the moment he closed his eyes, his brother's hands would snake around his throat and choke away what little breath his lungs could draw. Even awake, Rabastan would have little chance against Rodolphus, if he did decide to kill him, but at least he might be able to scream, might be able to make Rodolphus regret it before his life slipped away completely.

But Rodolphus did not try to choke Rabastan. He slept uneasily, tossing and turning, and moaned and cried out more than once, making Rabastan jolt every time, but he never did anything more harmful than lashing out once or twice and bumping his leg with his foot. Still, Rabastan dared not sleep, and when the sun finally rose, he dragged himself out of bed, stiff from lying still all night long.

"Rab?" Rodolphus murmured sleepily, and Rabastan whispered back, "It's all right. Go back to sleep."

He dressed with hands that felt like rubber, and splashed cold water on his face until he was shivering and as awake as he could reasonably expect to be, then dragged himself down to the parlour and sank onto the couch. He pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on them, watching dawn break on the horizon. There were no beautiful pinks or oranges or blues visible in the sunrise, only steely grey, lighter where sky met land. Rabastan glared out at it and rubbed his hand absently over the Mark on his arm, and he was so lost in his own moroseness that he startled when he heard the floorboards creak by the door. He spun around so quickly that his neck cramped.

Bellatrix was standing there, looking drawn and unusually sickly. She had always had the pallor that the Blacks prized as all families did, but her face was tinged with grey, and there were dark circles beneath her eyes. As he watched, she lifted her hand and rubbed her palm against one eye.

"I'm going out," she said, in a voice that seemed rather rusty. From her looks and voice, she might have slept even less than Rabastan in the past night. "Tell Rodolphus not to expect me back until the evening, at the soonest."

"Where are you going?" Rabastan asked, not because he cared, but because it seemed like the politer thing to do.

"To see the Dark Lord. To ask him about Andromeda."

Instantly, Rabastan was more alert. "About Andromeda? Do you think he'll know something about her?"

"I think that if anyone will know how to find her, wherever it is that she's gone, it'll be him."

"You... you really think that she's gone, then?" Rabastan stood up, and wobbled on his feet. Bellatrix did nothing to try to catch him. "You don't think she was just... just saying that?"

"No, I don't," Bellatrix said bitterly. "And she wasn't wrong to do it either. If it weren't for Cissy, I'd say fine, let her go where she wants! But Narcissa needs her. I can't mother Cissy by myself." She twisted a lock of hair absently around her finger and stared past Rabastan, through the window, at the ever-lightening sky. "You mustn't tell anyone, Rabastan – but I'm going to ask her to take Cissy in. Wherever she is _has_ to be better than with Father."

"You... wouldn't ask her to come back?"

"Come back to what? To _you_? To _me_? To _Father_? No, I couldn't convince her to come back if I tried, and why should I? She's better off away from us. She's clever enough. She'll survive on her own." Bellatrix rubbed her eyes again, and Rabastan wondered whether it was to rub away sleep, or tears. "But she won't leave Cissy behind."

Rabastan didn't know what to say to that, even when Bellatrix looked at him a little desperately, as if searching for validation that her plan was solid. "So I'm going to ask the Dark Lord to help me find her, and then I'll bring Cissy to her – and if that's the last I ever see of my sisters, well, so be it."

"You're... you're quite certain that Andromeda would take Narcissa in, then?"

"Of course," Bellatrix said, too quickly. "Why would she not? She loves her."

Rabastan shook his head. "I don't know. You... you go on and do that, then."

Bellatrix nodded decisively, then turned on her heel and strode out without another word, and Rabastan sank back onto the couch.

He should have been upset that, as things were seeming, he would never see Andromeda again, but however he might feel about Rodolphus, he could not find it in him to excuse her for sharing his secret with so many partygoers. It had not been her secret to share, when she had not been particularly close to either Maria or Rodolphus.

Rabastan sank into bitter fantasy about what he would do to Andromeda if ever he encountered her again – it would begin with a blow and end with her death, if he could have his way, and anger roiled in him as he thought about it. How could she have _dared_ to tell people what Rodolphus and Maria had done together, when she _knew_ the pain and shame of it all? Did she believe that just because _she_ was willing to throw away her reputation, Rodolphus should be able to as well?

Rabastan was roused from his hateful thoughts by the sound of the bell. He rose stiffly from the couch and started down the stairs, intending to answer it, as Bellatrix was surely gone by now and he expected Rodolphus to still be asleep. He doubted that he looked particularly presentable, but he could, at least, tell whoever was at the door that they would have to wait before they could talk to the master or mistress of the house.

He opened the door, and his heart turned to ice when he saw his father upon the step.

Joseph's cold, hard face was set, and his mouth was pressed into a grim line. He gave Rabastan only the briefest of glances before his eyes moved past him and settled on something on the stairs behind him. Rabastan turned and looked, and he felt sick to his stomach when he saw Rodolphus there, on the steps, barefoot, frozen in the act of tucking his shirt into his unfastened trousers, and with a look of mixed horror and guilt on his face.

Joseph did not wait to be invited in, and he shoved Rabastan aside so roughly and carelessly that he might have been part of the door. Rabastan stumbled back, and his leg caught against the edge of a table, sending shooting pain through him, but he had no time to dwell on the pain before Joseph was on the stairs, clutching Rodolphus by the front of his shirt.

"Your mother," he said, biting off the words sharply, "is bedridden. The miscarriage almost destroyed her. She will likely never be able to carry another child."

Rodolphus opened his mouth, but Joseph struck him across the face. "Not a word! She is sick in bed because of _you_, and you are here, _whoring_ yourself to your brother!"

"No, Father, we weren't," Rodolphus said, and Rabastan could see him trying to put on a brave face, but no matter how he tried to hide his fear, it showed through. He was shaking in place.

Joseph slapped him again, and the crack of flesh against flesh made Rabastan wince.

"Don't lie to me, boy!" he bellowed, and Rodolphus cowered. "You _disgust_ me! Do you feel no shame for what you've done?"

"I haven't done anything, Father," Rodolphus said. There was no conviction in his voice. "I never touched Rabastan, nor Mother."

"Haven't you? _Haven't you?_" Joseph grabbed Rodolphus by his ear and dragged on it, pulling him forward on the stairs so he stumbled into him. Rodolphus let out a teary cry.

"No, Father! I- I've only- ever lain with my wife–"

"_Lies!_" The sound of a third blow rang out through the foyer. "Do you think I cannot tell when you are being dishonest! I've always known you lusted for Maria! But did your mother and I raise you to act on your impulses?"

"You and mother never raised me to do anything!" Rodolphus shouted, and for a moment, Joseph seemed stunned by his outburst. "You didn't teach me morals! You were always too busy over Rabastan's sickbed! I raised _myself!_"

Rabastan felt nauseous with shock and anger. _Too busy over him?_ When had Joseph _or_ Maria ever had a moment to spare for him? Rodolphus had always been the older one, the golden boy, the one who had praise and attention lavished upon him. How _dare_ Rodolphus think even for a moment that _he_ was the one who had suffered more?

"He did it!" Rabastan blurted out.

Joseph whirled around, still holding Rodolphus by his ear, and Rodolphus shrieked and clutched at the wall to stop himself from falling.

"Did what?" Joseph demanded.

"Slept- _fucked_ Mother." Saying it gave Rabastan a deep, sick satisfaction, especially when he saw the look of naked terror on his brother's face. "I saw them. They kissed. Rodolphus sucked her breast. He _enjoyed_ it."

"Rabastan, no..." Rodolphus whispered hoarsely, but now, all Rabastan could think of were the endless injustices of his entire life, every time Rodolphus had been chosen over him, every time he had endured being second-best because he thought his brother loved him, and then- _then_, hearing Rodolphus say that Rabastan would be better off dead-!

Rabastan could feel no remorse.

"And you? Did he fuck you too?" Joseph hissed. There was fire behind his eyes – fire like the deepest pits of Hell – and Rabastan revelled in it. This was power like he had never felt before. He felt, when he saw his father like that, that he was controlling the rage of Hell itself, and he was drunk on it.

He would later like to think that he had been so intoxicated by that power that he had not known what he was saying, but in truth, a lie sprung to his lips so easily and perfectly that he might have practiced it, and he looked Rodolphus dead in the eye when he said it.

"I tried to stop him, Father. But he's so much stronger than me."

For a second, even Joseph looked shocked, and Rodolphus gaped at him. It seemed to take him a moment to realize what Rabastan had even said.

"That's- _no!_" he rasped at last. "It was nothing like that- Rabastan, you _know_ I didn't- I would _never–_"

"You _slut!_" Joseph snarled, and he gripped Rodolphus's head and slammed it against the wall. "You _disgust_ me! How could I ever have called you my son?"

"Father, he's _lying!_" There was nothing but panic in Rodolphus's voice, and Joseph silenced him by cracking his head against the wall again. His words turned to a dazed groan.

"_Slut_," Joseph repeated, and shoved Rodolphus forward, sending him tumbling down the stairs. "You are nothing more than a whore, a filthy, disgusting _whore_. I wash my hands of you. Never again call yourself my son. Never again _dare_ to call yourself by my name. You are no Lestrange – and by the morrow, you may be sure that you will not be a Black either. The Blacks deserve better than you for their daughter."

Joseph had started down the stairs, and as he passed over Rodolphus, Rodolphus grabbed onto the hem of his cloak and let out a garbled moan. The sounds were indistinct, but Rabastan could hear the word clearly.

"_Daddy._"

Joseph yanked the fabric out of Rodolphus's hands and spat on him, and Rodolphus shrunk back. His eyes were brimming with tears that did not fall.

Joseph did not look at Rabastan when he passed him by – no surprise; Rabastan had only been a tool in a quest to destroy Rodolphus.

And Rodolphus did look destroyed.

He dragged himself up off the floor, but did not stand, and instead, leaned limply against the wall and stared at Rabastan with glassy eyes.

"Rab," he whispered, voice still slurred. "Rab, how... how _could_ you?"

"You said you wanted me dead," Rabastan spat, and surprised himself with the venom in his own voice. Seventeen years of the care that Rodolphus had given him had all evaporated.

The tears spilled down Rodolphus's cheeks, and he shut his eyes an slumped against the wall. A trickle of blood was visible in front of his ear, and Rabastan stood, frozen, watching it make its way slowly down his brother's beautiful jaw, until it dripped onto the collar of his shirt.

He did not know how long he stood there. He might have been rooted to the spot for hours. He had no sense of the passage of time, only of the creep of remorse and horror taking hold of him slowly, as the full gravity of what he had done to his brother sank in.


	74. Chapter 74

When it _did_ sink in, the horror that dawned on Rabastan made his vision erupt in vertigo. He clutched at the wall, staring at Rodolphus. A tear had spilled from beneath one still eyelid, and was trickling down his cheek beside the blood from his head. He was perfectly still, except the wavering of his chest.

Rabastan couldn't stand to look at him. He bolted. All that mattered was putting a door between himself and his brother so he couldn't see him anymore.

He stumbled through a doorway into one of the guest rooms off the foyer, and slammed the door behind him, then sank down against it and leaned his head back. He stared up at the darkness of the ceiling and hoped that it would absorb him.

_How could he have done it?_

What insanity had possessed him? Not an hour ago, he had been mentally condemning Andromeda for harming Rodolphus's reputation, and now he had done the same...

He was as bad as Andromeda. _Oh, God, he was worse_.

The thought made tears sting his eyes. He ground the heels of his hands against them until starry patterns erupted behind his eyelids, but the tears would not go away, and as much as he rubbed, he felt wetness leaking down his cheeks.

He was worse, because Rodolphus was his brother, who had done so much for him, who had never – _until last night_, a reproachful voice in his head reminded him – done _anything_ to harm him, who had trusted him with his secret before anyone else knew about Maria...

Rodolphus would never forgive him. And rightly so – Rabastan would never forgive himself either. He loathed himself, and he loathed his father even more for making him behave the way he had.

He jumped when he heard the sound of a door being flung open in the foyer behind him, then cringed when Bellatrix's voice cut high and shrill through the air, uninhibited by the door between them.

"My _God_, Rodolphus, what happened to you?"

Rabastan held his breath. When Rodolphus answered, his voice was weak and broken.

"Father."

"What did he do to you?" Bellatrix demanded, and Rabastan heard scuffling and a soft thump. He imagined the sound was Bellatrix falling to her knees beside Rodolphus, but he couldn't be sure, and he didn't want to open the door or even look through the keyhole to see.

"He... told me Mother was sick in bed," Rodolphus mumbled. He was speaking much more quietly than Bellatrix, and there was a slight slur to his voice. "And then he..."

"Attacked you?"

Rodolphus didn't say anything, but the answer must have been obvious, if he hadn't moved since Rabastan had left him. Bellatrix snarled out loud, like a wild animal.

"How _dare_ he–"

"Bella," Rodolphus interrupted, and though he was obviously still in tears, his voice was a little stronger. "Bella, they're going to make us divorce. For what I did with Mother- and with Rabastan"

"They can't prove anything! They can't force me to divorce you!" Was there a hint of teariness in Bellatrix's voice, or was that Rabastan's imagination? "I won't do it! I'm not going to leave you over that!"

"You know as well as I that there's nothing we can do about it if our parents decide–"

"They can't–"

"Yes, they _can_," Rodolphus interrupted emphatically. "They can force us to do whatever they want. You know they can. But it won't be your fault. You'll be eligible for remarriage."

"I'm not going to remarry!"

"Bella, do you really think that Andromeda's run away for good?"

"I- what does _that_ have to do with anything?"

Rabastan's stomach twisted and he held his breath to listen more closely. Yes, what _did_ that have to do with anything?

"Just answer, Bella, please."

"Yes, I do. I'm certain of it."

"Then–" Rodolphus's voice cracked terribly, and Rabastan's heart ached. He realized that he was clenching his hands into fists so hard that he was losing feeling to his fingers, and tried to make himself relax. "Andromeda will be disowned, won't she?"

"Likely."

"And Rabastan will have to remarry?"

"I expect that's what your parents would want, yes – but if your father knows about you and he–"

"Promise me you'll marry him, Bella."

Rabastan felt like he had been doused in icy water, and from the sound of it, Bellatrix had the same reaction. Her voice was high and shrill and vibrating with disbelief and rage.

"_What_?"

"If you'd just–"

"I most certainly will not!"

"You _have_ to. Bella, _please_." Rodolphus sounded tearful again. "I'm going to be disgraced. I'll never be able to remarry after this. Rabastan is our family's only chance for another generation–"

"I won't do it! I'm not going to touch him! You're out of your mind!"

"Please, Bella, for _me_..."

"I'm not going to spend the rest of my life labouring over a little boy who doesn't want to bed me! I'm not going to spend the rest of my life trying to have a child that neither of us will want! I refuse! And- and how am I meant to convince my parents to let me marry him anyhow, if they know that he's been fucking you?"

Bellatrix broke off, and Rodolphus didn't speak for a long time. When he finally did, his voice was choked.

"Rabastan told Father that I forced him."

"_What_?"

"Don't, Bella. He was protecting his own reputation."

"How can you just _sit there_ and _say things like that_?" Bellatrix's voice rose to a shout, and he heard scuffling beyond the door. "I'll kill him myself, the little rat–"

"No, Bella, _no_. You can't. He's my _brother_."

"Well, you might have told him that when he was accusing you of all sorts–"

"I don't blame him for doing it."

"If you don't, then it's because _you're_ an idiot, not because _he_ shouldn't be blamed!" Rabastan heard a crack, and winced and drew his knees closer against his chest.

"If I had been in his position–"

"Oh, don't try to tell me that you would have done the same thing! We both know that's not the truth! You value that brat's life more than your own. If you had been in his position, you would have insisted that you had forced yourself on him, _and_ that you were the one who fucked your own mother as well!"

"I can't expect Rabastan to do that. He's not that brave, Bella."

If that was meant to be a defence, it failed miserably in Rabastan's eyes. He raised his head, breathing heavily through his nose, and clenched his fists in his robes. Crimson tinged the edges of his vision. _Not that brave_? He _was_ brave–

_No, he wasn't_.

He let his head sink back onto his knees. Of course he wasn't brave. He was a coward, he always had been, and the things he had blurted out to his father had just been yet another chance for him to prove it.

The Dark Mark on his arm ached.

A Death Eater should not be such a coward. A Death Eater should have a sense of loyalty.

A Death Eater should not sit curled up on the ground in defeat.

Rabastan could hear Bellatrix's voice from the foyer, but her words no longer sounded quite so clearly. He found himself tracing the outline of his Mark lightly through the fabric of his shirt, and it tingled where his fingers brushed against it.

A Death Eater would not allow this to destroy them. A Death Eater would take action now, and rectify their mistakes, and even if he could not solve things completely, at least he could rest easily with the knowledge that he had done _something_. That he had not just lain down and accepted failure.

He drew his wand out of his pocket and absently dragged his fingers along the length, his brow furrowing in thought, and he heard Rodolphus's voice again from beyond the door, higher and almost hysterical.

"He's going to tell your parents. _By the morrow,_ he said."

Well.

Rabastan rose to his feet, and with none of the shakiness that he had expected. His body felt unlike his own, but much more comfortable than his own body had ever felt. He moved with ease that had never come naturally to him before.

He couldn't take back what he'd said, but he could do the next-best thing. He could stop it from causing any more damage.

He Disapparated, and hoped that Bellatrix and Rodolphus's own arguing would cover the sound.

The imposing gates of his parents' manor rose up before him, familiar and yet as intimidating as they would be to someone who had never seen the manor before. But Rabastan did not let the intimidation stall him. He strode forward as if on someone else's legs, the legs of someone who was _not_ a coward. The gates parted for him as easily as ever they had.

He held his wand tightly in his hand as he ascended the stairs to the front doors, and gripped it tightly enough to make his fingers ache when he rang the bell.

The clanging was loud enough to make him jump – or it would have been, if Rabastan had not been so perfectly focussed on the task before him. As it was, the sound, sharp and loud though it was, barely registered on his mind. His ears were filled with a low humming, though at the same time, his hearing seemed clearer than it had ever been.

Rabastan held his wand out in front of him, at the ready.

The door swung open, and Joseph stepped into view, still red-faced as he had been when he left Rodolphus, just as Rabastan had hoped – this way, he wouldn't have even a single second in which to lose his nerve. No delay. No time to change his mind.

He looked down at Rabastan's raised wand.

Joseph Lestrange would never look back up.


	75. Chapter 75

Rabastan had barely staggered back through the door when Bellatrix was upon him. He only just had time to register Rodolphus still lying slumped against the wall, though with his head upright and his eyes open at least, before Bellatrix was advancing on him with her wand raised and a look of crazed fury in her eyes.

"_Bastard!_ You _bastard!_ How _dare you!_ _Crucio!_"

The spell hit Rabastan squarely in the chest. His legs gave out instantly when the pain washed through him, and he heard his head crack against the ground more than he felt it. His limbs twitched and jerked involuntarily, as if he could push or kick the curse away.

"Bellatrix, _don't_." Rodolphus's voice sounded hoarse, distant and tearful, and the pain subsided immediately. Rabastan's vision had blurred, and when he blinked, he saw Bellatrix standing over him, looking mutinously over her shoulder.

"You're an idiot, Rodolphus," she snarled. "An _idiot!_ You would be dead if he had his way!"

"No," Rabastan managed to croak out. Bellatrix didn't even look down at him, and a moment later, Rodolphus appeared in his field of vision. He knelt down and put his arms around Rabastan's shoulders, helping him up to a sitting position. Rabastan's throat tightened. _It wasn't fair_. It wasn't fair that Rodolphus wasn't angry at him, even a little bit. He should have let Bellatrix hold the curse on him.

Even now that Rabastan had...

"Are you all right?" Rodolphus asked quietly. His voice was softer and more gentle than ever Rabastan had heard it, even in the tenderest moments that had passed between them in the past. He spoke as if it was _Rabastan_ who had endured a beating from their father, and when the blood was still trickling freshly down the side of his head. He had no right to be so forgiving.

"Of course he's all right!" Bellatrix snapped. "And he ought to be suffering! He–"

"He's dead," Rabastan spoke up.

Bellatrix broke off with her mouth still open. Rodolphus went stiff.

"What?"

"He's dead." Rabastan pulled himself out of Rodolphus's arms and managed to rise to his feet. He had to clutch the wall to stay steady, but he didn't feel his usual lightheadedness – or perhaps he was so lightheaded already that it didn't matter.

Rodolphus rose to his feet too, holding out his arms to catch Rabastan if he fell. His eyes were wide and his eyebrows drawn together nervously. "Dead? Who's dead, Rabastan?" And when Rabastan didn't answer immediately, he repeated, frantically, "Oh, God, who's dead?"

"Father."

Saying it out loud gave it a finality that Rabastan enjoyed. He ran his tongue around his lips and said it again, savouring the words, and the roiling sense of power they brought up inside him, "Father is dead."

"F- Father?" Rodolphus's face had gone blank, almost slack, and he stared flatly at Rabastan. "Father?"

Bellatrix was staring uncomprehendingly at Rabastan too, but he could see her eyebrows drawing together very slowly as she processed what he was saying. Rodolphus, by contrast, was simply staring at him, as if waiting for him to thoroughly explain what he had just said. As if he didn't understand the words Rabastan had used.

"Father is dead," Rabastan repeated, and with a hint of pride, he added, "No one will find out about you and Mother now."

"Dead," Rodolphus echoed weakly. He didn't even acknowledge the rest of what Rabastan had said; the word _dead_ seemed to have stopped him short. "Father... is dead? But how?"

Rabastan opened his mouth, but found that the words would not quite come out. He closed his mouth, then tried again, struggling to think of the sounds that would make the words that would convey what had happened, but before he could do it, Bellatrix had let out a low whistle, and Rodolphus looked to her.

"Well," she said quietly. "You've gone and surprised me, Rabastan. I didn't think you had that in you."

Rabastan wet his lips with his tongue and felt a slight flush rise about his cheeks. Bellatrix looked quite genuinely impressed, and she had lowered her wand, which he took to be a sign that, at least on the most instinctive level, she was willing to forgive him. Rodolphus looked back and forth from Rabastan to Bellatrix with a dreadfully lost expression on his face.

"Dead?" he repeated again. "How can he be dead? What happened?"

"You're a bit slow, aren't you, Rodolphus?" Bellatrix asked, but there was no edge to her voice, and she didn't even look at him. She was watching Rabastan, and a smile curved very slowly across her lips. "I'm sure you'll understand it if you give it a moment of consideration."

"I..." Rodolphus looked helplessly back at Rabastan. His eyes were glistening with fresh tears. "Rabastan, what..."

"He _killed him_, Rodolphus," Bellatrix said, and her lips twisted into an almost grotesque smile. "Well done, Rabastan. Well done."

"W- what?" The confusion and shock on Rodolphus's face drained away, slowly to be replaced by horror. "You... Rabastan... no, she's not- Rabastan?" He swallowed hard. "That's not it, is it? You didn't... you wouldn't... you _couldn't_..."

"I did."

Rabastan didn't know quite what he had been expecting. Shock, certainly. Maybe even sadness, though Rabastan certainly felt none for his father. But more than that, he had expected _gratitude_. He had saved Rodolphus – or done everything that it was now in his power to do. He had saved his reputation. He would not have to be divorced from Bellatrix, he would not have to be disgraced and cast aside, no further corroboration of rumours would become public. And Rodolphus had not even displayed anger when Rabastan had _said_ the things he had said to Joseph – he had displayed what could only be taken as extraordinary forgiveness.

And _now_, now that Rabastan had reversed the damage that he had done, _now_ Rodolphus slapped him.

He struck him across the face and sent him reeling backwards. He struck his head on the wall and managed a dazed groan while Bellatrix cried out in protest.

"By _God_, Rodolphus! When he's destroying your life, you're willing to try to pawn me off to him, but when he's _saving_ your life, you–"

"You _killed_ my _father?_" Rodolphus interrupted in a positive scream. "You killed him? My father, _our father_? You're insane!" He struck Rabastan again, even harder, and Rabastan's teeth came down hard on his tongue. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth, and he swallowed at it, swallowing back tears at the same time. It had hurt to have Rodolphus be so terribly _forgiving_ before, when Rabastan had deserved anger, but now _surely_ he _did_ deserve some measure of forgiveness...

"Stop that, Rodolphus!" Bellatrix grabbed Rodolphus's arm before he could strike Rabastan again. "You really _are_ out of your mind! Don't you understand what Rabastan's done?"

"Don't I understand? _I'm clearly the only one who understands!_" Rodolphus screamed, and he pushed Bellatrix hard, and lashed out at her too, for good measure. "_He killed a man! Our father! Don't you see that?_"

"To save you!" Rabastan spoke up. He was fairly sure that Rodolphus's blow had split his lip. "I killed him so he wouldn't tell Cygnus Black about you!"

"You did it on _my_ account?" If it was possible, Rodolphus's voice became even higher and shriller, and tears were streaming freely down his cheeks. "You've made me a murderer with you, then! How- how could-" Once more, he struck at Rabastan, but this time the attack was wild and off-kilter, and Rabastan managed to dodge it, though only barely.

"I'm sorry!" Rabastan didn't know what else to say, so he babbled it out. "I'm sorry- I didn't think you would be- I only wanted to try to fix what I'd done!"

"_Fix what you'd done?_" Rodolphus's raised hand fell and he stared, agape, at Rabastan. "You told the truth! Father was _right_ to hurt me, and he was- he-" Rodolphus's voice wobbled terribly. "He would have been right to go to Cygnus Black and tell him the truth as well!"

"He would have destroyed your life if he'd done that!" Bellatrix said sharply, and Rodolphus rounded on her.

"My life deserved to be destroyed! I don't deserve to be married to you! You've said it yourself, I've been unfaithful, twice over, with my own mother and brother!"

"Oh, don't go making yourself out to be some beacon of sin! I've not been faithful either!" Bellatrix snapped. "You don't deserve to be ruined because your idiot of a brother can't keep a secret."

"I don't _want him to keep any more secrets_!" Rodolphus clenched his hands into fists and slammed one into the wall. "I'm _tired_ of keeping secrets! I've been keeping secrets all my life, and I can't take it anymore–"

Bellatrix slapped him.

She didn't slap him hard enough to send him reeling the way he had done to both her and Rabastan, but it was enough to leave a red mark on his cheek, and enough to silence him, at least briefly.

"You're acting like a child," she said, and there was a cold, commanding tone in her voice that brought the Dark Lord to mind. "We live off secrets. There's no use in complaining about them. You should have been taught the importance of keeping secrets a long time ago, but clearly your mother wasn't interested in teaching you that." Her lip curled slightly, and when Rodolphus flushed and bristled, she added, "Ah, you see? Now I know your secret, and I can use it to hurt you. Do you really want to give everyone else in the world that power?"

Rodolphus didn't answer. He looked down and swallowed, and Bellatrix's nose wrinkled slightly.

"Rabastan has done you the _incredible_ favour of helping you to keep your secrets a little longer. You should be grateful to him – perhaps not _thanking_ him, seeing as it was his fault that your secrets came out in the first place – but grateful that he prevented their spread."

Rodolphus dashed at his eyes with the backs of his hands. "My Father is _dead–_"

"No great loss," Bellatrix said callously. "Who shall miss him?"

Rabastan shuddered. That seemed cold, even to him, and he had felt nothing on Joseph's death.

But Rodolphus said no more. He leaned against the wall and turned his eyes to Rabastan, and Rabastan stood and trembled slightly under his gaze. He did not know what was going through his brother's mind – whether there was forgiveness to be had or not – until Rodolphus reached out and drew him into his arms.

Never before in his life had Rabastan been so grateful for an embrace. He clung to his brother and prayed in thanks for the way that his hand stroked gently against his hair, his arms held him tightly against his chest, and most of all for the whisper – barely more than a breath – in his ear. "_I love you, Rabastan. Always. Even now. Especially now_."

Rabastan held onto him for a long time, and when Bellatrix spoke, it seemed she was speaking more to herself than to either of them.

"Another secret, then. Just for the three of us."


	76. Chapter 76

Rabastan never wanted to let go of his brother. Those few minutes in which he had been sure that Rodolphus hated him had been the worst of his life. He clung to Rodolphus all the way up the stairs and into the parlour, where he slumped down onto the couch and Rabastan curled up beside him. Bellatrix clicked her fingers, and a house-elf appeared before them and bowed so low that its long nose brushed the floor.

"Fix him up," Bellatrix told the elf, gesturing to Rodolphus, and it nodded and disappeared again, only to return a moment later with a jar of ointment and a clean, white rag.

Rodolphus tipped his head back and closed his eyes while the house-elf silently daubed the ointment onto the cut on the side of his head and wiped away the dried blood that had caked along his jaw. Rabastan wished vaguely that he could be the one to tend to his brother's wounds (_wounds that were his fault_, he could not stop reminding himself), but he knew nothing about medicine except how it was administered to him, so he settled for simply burying his face in Rodolphus's shoulder and huddling closely enough against him that the heat of his body warmed him.

Bellatrix seated herself at a writing desk that stood beneath the window, with her back to Rodolphus and Rabastan, retrieved quill, ink, and parchment from the drawers, and started writing. Her handwriting was cramped and pointed, and Rabastan could not read it from the distance.

"There will have to be a funeral," Rodolphus murmured, and Rabastan looked up at him quickly. He still had his eyes closed, but his mouth twitched into a slight grimace when he paused. "I should be the one to arrange it–"

"You most certainly should not," Bellatrix interrupted sharply. "You and Rabastan should go into periods of mourning. As far as anyone else is concerned, your father's untimely and unexpected death has shocked you so horribly that you can hardly bear to appear in public."

"Why–" Rabastan began, and Bellatrix spun in her chair and fixed a glare on him.

"Because you killed him, you stupid boy; why do you think? Do you think you're good enough at lying to keep it a secret if you're spending all day talking to people about him? If you trust your skills at Occlumency that much..."

Rabastan shook his head and shivered slightly, and Rodolphus's arm snaked around his waist and he hugged him closer.

"You'll have to attend the funeral," Bellatrix continued briskly. "But there's no reason to do much besides that. Just keep your heads down."

"But surely..." Rodolphus spoke up, "surely Rabastan and I will be suspected-" His voice cracked.

"Most likely," said Bellatrix, with a chillingly emotionless affect. "But there are plenty of potential suspects – your father was not without enemies." Rabastan considered asking her how she knew that, but he didn't want to be called stupid again, and he supposed it didn't really matter – especially not now that Joseph was dead.

"I would point to Andromeda first, if I didn't know better," she continued. "_And_ there's the possibility that he was struck down by some sudden freak disease, isn't there? From the stress?" She looked at them questioningly, as if they might be able to confirm that, then shook her head. "Just keep quiet and act the parts of distraught, grieving sons. And for God's sake, don't do anything stupid. And don't go _confiding_ in anyone else. Three people is already two more than can keep a secret..." She pursed her lips, and a chill ran down Rabastan's spine.

"We can keep a secret," Rodolphus said firmly, and Bellatrix snorted.

"Not without my help, you can't. Honestly, I don't know how you went so long without letting the world know about you and your mother."

"Would you _stop bringing her up_?" Rodolphus's voice rose in pitch slightly, and his fingers dug into Rabastan's side.

"No, I will not." Bellatrix rose from the seat and moved towards Rodolphus until they were nose-to-nose. "I'm doing so much to protect you and your reputation – but do you think it doesn't sting a bit to know that my husband has been with his own _mother_?"

"I never _wanted–_"

"Like Hell you didn't," Bellatrix breathed, and she pushed Rabastan aside roughly and leaned over Rodolphus. "You could have stopped her. But you didn't – and you must have done it an awful _lot_ to get her pregnant – and how do you think that makes your poor wife feel?" She turned her lips down into an exaggerated pout.

Rodolphus's eyes were misting with tears again. "I'm sorry, Bella..."

"You should be." She put her hand on his chest and leaned in so that her lips touched Rodolphus's ear. Rabastan shuddered and pulled away into the far corner of the couch.

The door bell clanged, interrupting the moment, and Bellatrix was off Rodolphus in an instant and peering out the window. She paled visibly.

"It's Father," she said, and there was a hint of a tremor in her voice, though very well-disguised. "Here with the news of your father's untimely death, no doubt."

Rodolphus started to stand, but Bellatrix grabbed his shoulders and forced him back down. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To greet him, of course, and to receive the news–"

Bellatrix backhanded him, and he jumped and winced. "Idiot, do you think you'll be able to feign the sort of shock that receiving such news would cause? Of course not! You will stay here and let the house-elf take the news!"

"But–"

"Don't argue with me, Rodolphus!" Bellatrix interrupted sharply, and Rodolphus shut his mouth and sank back down. Rabastan curled against him again, and Bellatrix moved to the door and opened it a crack.

"-Masters are not here," a house-elf was saying in a dull, creaky voice. "But if Master Cygnus will state his business..."

"Yes, yes." Rabastan had not heard Cygnus Black speak often, but he was quite certain he had never heard him speak like _this_. His voice was broken and strained, and he was quite obviously fighting tears. Rabastan had not thought that men like Cygnus Black _could_ cry.

"J- Mr. Lestrange-" His voice wobbled horribly. Rabastan glanced at Bellatrix, who was paper-pale and tense. "Mr. Lestrange has been found dead. You must tell Rodolphus and Rabastan as soon as possible, for there are preparations for a funeral to be made, and-" He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was thick and slightly muffled, as if he was speaking through his hand. "And Mrs. Lestrange will want to see her sons."

"Yes, Master," the house-elf said solemnly, and a moment later, the snap of the front door closing was audible. Bellatrix retreated from the parlour door, and Rabastan looked quickly to his brother, whose face had gone quite ashen.

"Rod?" he murmured, and Rodolphus shook his head.

"Hearing someone else say it..." he mumbled, but didn't conclude the thought, for the house-elf appeared in the doorway with its head lowered.

"Cygnus Black–" he began, but Bellatrix interrupted it impatiently.

"Yes, we know, we heard! Go on back to the kitchens!"

She did not wait for it to Disapparate before she closed the door in its face. She leaned against it and looked at Rodolphus, who let out a soft, wordless whimper.

"I don't know what to do," he mumbled, and Rabastan could not tell whether he was speaking to him, or to Bellatrix, or to neither of them. "_I don't know what to do_."

"Then it's a damned good thing I do," Bellatrix said. "You'll be all right as long as you just do as I say."

Rodolphus whimpered again, and Rabastan moved as close to him as he could without actually crawling into his lap, and twined his arms around his neck. Rodolphus pressed his face into Rabastan's hair.

The embrace was small comfort to Rabastan, and must have been no comfort at all to Rodolphus, but still the two of them clung to each other. Rodolphus cradled Rabastan and rubbed his back, and Rabastan wondered how he had the strength in him to be so consoling towards him when it was _Rodolphus_ who had suffered so much, _Rodolphus_ who deserved to be held and petted and soothed.

The couch creaked, and Rabastan glanced back over his shoulder. Bellatrix had seated herself on the edge, and she was watching the brothers dully.

Part of Rabastan thought that perhaps he should reach out and draw her into the embrace too – after all, she was Rodolphus's wife, and as much a part of the murder of Joseph Lestrange as Rodolphus was, but he did not reach out for her, and after a few moments of watching them, she rose again and returned to her quill and parchment at the writing desk.


	77. Chapter 77

It was Bellatrix who left the manor to get the information about the funeral, and for that, Rabastan was grateful. He didn't want Rodolphus to speak to their mother, and he didn't trust himself to do it without betraying his crime, or his loathing for her, or both. He dreaded the funeral, when he would have to lay his eyes upon her, and when he would have to speak like a heartbroken son instead of like a murderer who felt nothing for his kill.

Rodolphus, for his part, seemed more numb than anything else. He sat still and silent in the parlour, with no tears on his face. He embraced Rabastan when Rabastan leaned against him, but made no move to hold onto him when he moved away. He did not speak to him – barely even looked at him.

When Bellatrix returned, she paused only briefly in the parlour to tell them that the funeral would be tomorrow, and that they were expected at their parents' manor (_Maria's manor, now_) at dawn, to give them a chance to speak to Maria before other guests arrived. Then Bellatrix disappeared again, God only knew where.

"This is going to be awful," Rodolphus mumbled, once Bellatrix had gone. "I don't know how I'll look Mother in the eye."

"It should be she who can't look _you_ in the eye!" Rabastan said, more sharply than he had intended to. Rodolphus flinched and Rabastan forced himself to soften his voice. "She was the one who wanted your child. This is all her fault."

"It's not." Rodolphus turned his head away. "You don't understand."

"So explain it to me."

"_No._" Rodolphus stood quickly, and lurched. Rabastan had never seen his brother wobble on his feet like that. It was the same sort of unsteadiness that Rabastan exhibited when he was about to faint. He almost reached out to try to catch him, but he restrained himself.

"I'm going to bed."

"I'll come with you–"

"I'd sooner sleep alone tonight," he interrupted, and Rabastan fell silent and bit down on his tongue to bite back a protest.

"Fine," he mumbled, and Rodolphus exited the parlour, head down, shoulders hunched, without so much as looking back at Rabastan.

Rabastan curled on the sofa. He put his cheek against the arm rest, where it was still warm from the heat of Rodolphus's body.

He could not blame Rodolphus for not wanting to speak with him, and he could not blame him for wanting to be alone, but still, Rabastan wanted his company, if only so that he could have no doubt that he was still loved. As long as Rodolphus's arm was around him, he could be sure that his brother did not hate him for what he'd done to their father. As soon as Rodolphus was no longer present, doubts began to creep into his mind.

_He just never wanted to hurt his brother._

Rabastan slept on the couch that night, and was woken – stiff-necked but better-rested than he could possibly have expected – by Bellatrix.

He blinked dazedly. The sky was still dark outside, and he could hear heavy rain beating against the glass.

"Get up," Bellatrix said briskly. "You have a funeral to prepare for."

"What time is it?"

"Early." She waved her wand at the gas lamp that sat upon the hearth and it flickered to life and cast an eerie yellow-white glow over her. "But you can't be going to a funeral looking like that."

"I'll go wash up–" Rabastan mumbled, blinking and rubbing sleep out of his eyes, but Bellatrix shook her head.

"No, don't do that. Your father has just died. You can't be looking rested and well-kept."

Rabastan blinked dazedly at her.

"I brought you clean clothes," Bellatrix continued. "If you don't turn up well-dressed, it will look as if you didn't make an effort. But you should look as if you were up all night crying and regretting and stewing yourself in tragedy. Here." She shoved a stack of folded clothes into his arms.

"Rodolphus–" he began, intending to ask whether he was up yet, but Bellatrix cut him off.

"Rodolphus actually _did_ stay up all night crying and regretting and stewing himself in tragedy. He'll look exactly as the grieving elder son should. You, on the other hand, are not a grieving son. You are a perfectly self-satisfied little murderer. Now get dressed"

Rabastan didn't even have the energy to insist upon privacy. His fingers felt numb and rubbery, and he found he couldn't get the buttons of his shirt undone.

"Oh, here," Bellatrix said impatiently, after watching him struggle for several minutes, and she leaned over and started popping the buttons open. A hot flush rose on his cheeks, and he cringed when her fingers touched his skin, but he didn't pull away from her, and when she finished and leaned back again, he didn't turn away to remove his shirt.

The fresh one she had brought felt pleasantly cool against his skin, and he managed to button it for himself, and even managed to put the vest over it without his fingers slipping too badly over the small brass buttons. Bellatrix had the decency to turn away while he put on the trousers that she had brought him, but as soon as they were fastened, she leaned over and started to prod at him. She loosened the collar of the shirt so it did not sit quite evenly on his neck, and pulled the vest slightly askew, then leaned back to admire her handiwork. Rabastan let her do it.

"There," she said, sounding rather satisfied, then stood and moved to the fireplace. She dipped her fingers into the ashes that lay around the grate. "Close your eyes."

He did so, and a moment later, felt her fingertips brush against his eyelids. Her touch was surprisingly light and gentle, and he found he did not entirely mind it. She rubbed softly against his eyelids, around the inner corners of his eyes and beneath them, then smoothed her hands down the sides of his face and beneath his cheekbones with a touch as gentle as a lover's.

When at last she finished – and all but pulled him to his feet and across the room to the looking glass so he could see her work – Rabastan looked as sick as ever he had seen himself. She had rubbed ashes around his eyes to imitate the darkness of a sleepless night – and some must have gotten into his eyes, for they looked red, and did sting a little when he blinked – and his whole face had a slightly grey cast.

"Now, if you'll just act sad and dour, no one need ever know you aren't grieving." Bellatrix turned Rabastan back to her, then used her smallest finger – which was still grey with ash – to dab at his lips. While she did it, she leaned in and whispered in his ear, "I am impressed with you, Rabastan. You were right to kill him. The Dark Lord would be deeply impressed, if he knew."

"If?" Rabastan had not given much thought to it, but Bellatrix spoke as if the Dark Lord would not hear of it.

"This is our secret, remember," she murmured, and brushed her fingers over his lips again. She was so close that her body almost brushed his, so close that he could feel her breath, hot on his cheek. "The Dark Lord cannot be told, because _no one_ can be told. If he uses Legilimency – if he finds out – then he will understand why we could not tell him, and he will not begrudge us our precautions." She spoke as if she knew with certainty what the Dark Lord would or would not do, and Rabastan did not question her – she likely knew better than he did, after all.

"You are so much braver than I thought you were," Bellatrix whispered, and she was even closer than before, and then her lips were pressed firmly to his and her hand was on the back of his neck and he had his fingers laced through her hair while she whispered against his mouth, "_So brave. So brave_."

When at last she broke away, her lips were stained with the ash that she had brushed onto his, and Rabastan's heart lurched.

_He hadn't even _wanted_ to touch her._

If Bellatrix was troubled by what he wanted, or by kissing her brother-in-law, she certainly didn't show it. She turned to the looking-glass and smoothed her hair back, then looked at him again.

"Just don't ruin this," she said, so severely that he would never have guessed that she had been kissing him only a second before. "And," she added, and tilted her head to the side and narrowed her eyes. "I hope this wasn't just some sort of fluke. I would hate to find out that you really are as much of a coward as I always thought."


	78. Chapter 78

Rodolphus's eyes were red, his hollowed cheeks were stained with shining trails of tears, and his thin lips were swollen and dotted with bite marks. Rabastan's heart ached to see his brother in such a state. He moved toward him and twined his arms about his neck. He felt him cringe beneath his touch, but he returned the embrace and pressed gentle kisses into Rabastan's hair.

"You two are sickening," Bellatrix said mildy. She was the only one of the them who looked as composed as ever, though with a slight flush to her cheeks that Rabastan fancied was from their kiss. The thought certainly made him flush. But her hair was perfectly arranged, and her face was smooth, serene, and a mask of sympathy and concern. "I hope you aren't intending to be so intimate at the funeral."

"Of course we're not." Rodolphus's voice was quiet and scratchy. He kissed Rabastan's hair once more, then raised his head and looked at Bellatrix. "Should we go now?"

"We may as well." Bellatrix gave herself one more cursory glance in the looking-glass, then turned back to inspect Rodolphus. "By _God_, you look dreadful."

"I didn't sleep," he mumbled.

"Of course you didn't. Your father was just murdered."

Rodolphus winced. "I wish you wouln't just _say it_ like that."

"It's the truth, isn't it? I thought you wanted more truthfulness in your life."

"Leave him!" Rabastan said sharply. He hated seeing Bellatrix hurt his brother – hated it especially when he knew she could see clearly how much Rodolphus was already hurting.

Bellatrix ignored Rabastan. Indeed, she swept him aside with a strike of her arm and pressed herself up against Rodolphus in his place, so they were nose to nose. "He died hating you, you know. He went to his grave thinking you had stolen his wife. Like a whore. Your father died thinking you were a whore, Rodolphus."

Rodolphus's eyes were misting with fresh tears, and he turned his head away from Bellatrix, but she gripped his chin and held it in place.

"Bellatrix," he pleaded quietly. "Bellatrix, how can you say such things?"

"They're true."

Tears began to fall, streaking down Rodolphus's pale, swollen cheeks, but he did not falter. He just stared helplessly into Bellatrix's eyes, until finally she let go of his chin and turned away.

"Come on, then," she said to Rabastan, and took him roughly by his wrist. "Your mother will be so pleased to see both of you."

Rabastan let her hold on to him to Apparate, and said nothing in response to her comment, but he knew full well – and he suspected that Rodolphus did too – that it was most unlikely that Maria would be pleased to see them, and quite impossible that she would if she knew how her husband had died.

The manor looked infinitely more dour and sinister now than it ever had when Rabastan had seen it before, and it had never been a cheerful place when Joseph was alive. Now, it felt as if a dark and heavy fog had settled over the whole of the property.

"Come on then," Bellatrix muttered. She strode up the walkway – the walkway that Rabastan had walked with intention to murder not a day before – but Rodolphus hung back, and Rabastan could not bear to go in without him.

The rain was as heavy as ever, and fat drops fell heavily over the boys' shoulders. Rodolphus's hair was plastered to his forehead, and looked almost black in the wetness and the gloom. Rabastan bent his head forward and hoped the rain would not wash away the ash that Bellatrix had applied so carefully.

"I don't know how I'll be able to look Mother in the eye," Rodolphus mumbled.

"Why?" Rabastan's heart hurt to think that it might be because Rodolphus knew who killed her husband and was unable to tell her, but Rodolphus didn't look at him with the accusitory glance that Rabastan would have assumed he should recieve if that were the case. He sighed and tipped his head back. The raindrops poured down his cheeks.

"Our baby," he whispered. "She lost our baby – _her_ baby – because of me. And now she's lost Father too, and it's _all my fault–_"

"It is not your fault," Rabastan said, more sharply than he had meant to. "I'm the one who killed Father."

"Because of _me_. Because of what he did to _me_. That makes it my responsibility, even more than yours."

"It doesn't make it any such thing." Rabastan privately fumed – however much he knew that it was not his intention, it sounded very much as if Rodolphus was trying to take credit for what Rabastan had done. But he would never do that, not on purpose.

"I would have killed him in any case," he added, rather boldly. "For what he did to Andromeda. It's his fault and Cygnus's that she fell apart the way she did."

"You wouldn't really have killed him, would you?" Rodolphus looked down at him again. "For her? You wouldn't have _really_..."

"I would," Rabastan insisted. "I would have done it. I could have. Do you think I'm not brave enough?"

"Murder isn't brave," Rodolphus muttered, and Rabastan bristled.

"Bellatrix thought it was," he said, before he could stop himself. Rodolphus made a small sorting noise.

"Bellatrix thinks a lot of mad things."

"Are you two planning on joining me?" Bellatrix called down from the top of the stairs. "Or shall we simply all stand out in the rain, mumbling to each other, all day?"

Rodolphus moved forward wordlessly, and Rabastan followed, with his heart in his throat.

He had expected Maria to answer the door, and for the house to be otherwise empty, but when Bellatrix rapped on the door, it was Narcissa who appeared. Her pallid face was frozen in a sorrowful mask, with thin lips downturned and pale eyes wide and empty, and she greeted them with a nod of her head.

"Your Mother is in the drawing room," she said, and her voice, always soft and thin, sounded like little more than a strangled whisper. She wore a limp black dress that hung from her frame so lifelessly that she might have been draped in cobwebs. Rabastan was torn between wanting to hold her, and wanting to set her on fire and watch her burn until there was nothing left of her eerie countanence but ash.

"Thank you, Cissy," Bellatrix said, rather more gently than Bellatrix ordinarily spoke, and Narcissa bowed her head and moved behind the door to let them pass. Bellatrix moved through the door and onwards towards the drawing room, but when Rodolphus stepped through, Narcissa darted out and grasped his arm.

"Oh- Rodolphus-" she whispered, and when Rabastan inched forward to try to move past the two of them, she caught his wrist also in a shockingly vicelike grip.

"Rodolphus- Rabastan-" She glanced between them wildly, and her eyes, previously so dull, seemed alight with a feverish glow. "It is cruel of me to say, but I thought you must know- when I recieved the news of your father's death..." Her little voice dropped from a whisper to the softest of breaths. "I have never felt such- such- not so long as I can remember-"

"Rabastan, go on to the drawing room," Rodolphus said, and Narcissa immediately relinquished her hold on him. Rabastan stepped back, rubbing his wrist, and tried to catch his brother's eye, but Rodolphus only kept on staring down at Narcissa. His eyes were locked with hers.

And so Rabastan turned away and trudged along the corridor to the parlour, from whence he could hear hushed voices. He pushed open the door, and all fell silent.

When Rabastan had been very young – _very young indeed_ – he had thought that his mother must be the most beautiful and glamourous woman in the whole world. As time had gone on, he had become less and less enchanted with her, but now, he fancied she had a little bit of the beauty that he remembered from his childhood. She was reclined upon a caramel-coloured chaise lounge, her deep red curls prettily rumpled against the pillow, and her black silk dress shimmering in the lamplight. The string of pearls around her neck rose and fell with every fluttering breath. She was pallid and red-eyed. Faint trails of eye makeup ran down her cheeks. Her lips parted each time she inhaled, as if even breathing was a struggle in her state of grief. She was framed by a large picture window against which heavy rain was still beating. The effect was beautiful in the way of a tragic painting.

Sitting beside her, and quite erect in her high-backed wooden chair, Walburga Black held her hand gingerly. Druella perched on the sofa across from them, picture-perfect and lovely as ever, even in funeral black. Bellatrix was seated next to her mother, visibly stiff, but still with the same expression of sorrow that she had practiced in the looking-glass. And Cygnus Black sat in the far corner, his elbows upon his knees, his hands covering his face, and his shoulders shaking slightly. He did not even lift his head to acknowledge that people had entered the room. Rabastan had never seen Cygnus in such a state.

"Rabastan," Maria said, and her voice, always so strong and sharp, was uncannily soft and subdued. She held out her hand to him, palm down and wrist limp, as if expecting him to kiss it.

Rabastan moved forward, eyes downcast and stomach churning. It was truly discomforting to see so many people in such uncharacteristic states, all because of something that _he_ had done. He had never known himself to have such an effect on other people before.

When he was standing nearly over Maria's chaise, she lifted her hand and traced it across his cheek. Her touch was too light, almost like feeling a spider crawling across his skin, and he resisted the urge to jerk away.

"My darling," she whispered, and he could not tell whether she was speaking to him or to herself. "My poor little boy, my Rabastan..."

She looked as if she was going to say something more, but then the parlour door creaked and clicked shut, and her eyes darted past Rabastan.

Rodolphus was standing in the doorway, clutching the door as if it was the only thing that would keep him upright. He looked straight past Rabastan as well, and Rabastan could see him internally crumbling on the spot.

"Oh, Mama," he choked, in a voice so thick with tears that it was unrecognizable. "This is all my fault."


	79. Chapter 79

Bellatrix jerked to her feet, and Rabastan yanked away from Maria and took a half step towards Rodolphus with a whisper on his lips – _don't say it, don't do it, don't ruin it_ – but Rodolphus had dissolved already into wordless sobs. He stumbled forward and fell to his knees beside Maria, and she let him bury his face in her breast. Bellatrix shoved past Rabastan and knelt beside him, then cupped her hand around his ear and whispered something in it. Rodolphus nodded weakly, and Bellatrix moved her hand to caress his shoulder.

"Poor boy," Druella said, in a falsely tearful voice. "Such a shock..."

"He's distraught," Bellatrix agreed. Rodolphus turned away from Maria and rested his head on her shoulder, and she petted his hair – still dripping from the rain – with the gentlest of caresses. Rabastan became suddenly and acutely aware of how useless he felt standing over the two of them, and retreated to one of the tall wooden chairs, of the sort Walburga was sitting in.

"And you, Rabastan?" Druella asked.

"He's in shock," Bellatrix said quickly, before Rabastan had a chance to answer, which was likely for the best, for Rabastan didn't know what he would have said. All eyes were suddenly upon him, and he suddenly found it very difficult not to see suspicion in Cygnus's red eyes, or accusation in Walburga's cold, still ones.

"Poor boy," Druella repeated, and the tense moment was broken. Maria looked back down at Rodolphus, and Walburga at Maria, and Cygnus covered his face again.

"It isn't your fault, Rodolphus," Maria murmured. She pulled her hand from Walburga's and set it on his hair, but didn't look down at him. Her eyes were fixed firmly on the ceiling. Mercifully, Rodolphus did not contradict her.

"It must be terribly difficult for them," commented Druella, and blinked her wide eyes slowly, as if that would show her sympathy.

"It is difficult for all of us," Cygnus muttered. "Who could have done such a thing?"

"And when Joseph had already suffered so terribly in the last few days," Druella put in, and Maria's hand jerked against Rodolphus's head.

"Horrible," Walburga said flatly. "Imagine losing a child, a reputation, and a wife, in but one stroke."

"He did not lose me!" Maria cried. She sat up on the chaise, then clutched her head and sank back down. "I was never anything less than the very _picture_ of a dutiful wife!"

"Of course you weren't." Walburga sounded quite wholly indifferent to Maria's defence of her own honour.

"Still, the poor man suffered a shock," Druella said. "And to be so publicly humiliated–"

"By _your_ daughter!" Maria sat up again, and clutched the edge of the chaise this time for support. "Your little _liar_ of a daughter! She should be punished for the things that she said about him, and about me and my sons – but I don't expect you to punish her; I know you put her up to it!"

"I did no such thing!" Druella pulled herself indignantly upright in her seat. "She said things about myself and Cygnus as well, don't forget!"

"You expect me to believe it was merely _coincidence_ that she had something to say about the morals of everyone in my family?"

"Perhaps the morals of everyone in your family are simply degenerate."

"Are you suggesting you _believe_ the things she said?" Maria demanded. Her cheeks flushed to nearly the same shade of crimson as her hair. "Do you also believe what she said about your husband?"

"Leave me out of your petty arguments!" Cygnus bellowed, and Rabastan cringed back. He had never heard Cygnus Black shout before, and it was altogether terrifying. He saw Bellatrix wince visibly. "A man has just died – a man I am proud to have called a friend – and you women can do nothing but insult his memory! If you put half the passion into finding his killer that you do into fighting each other, the son of a bitch would be brought to justice!"

Rodolphus twisted sharply to look up at Rabastan, and his stomach turned to ice.

"It seems that I will have to find him myself!" Cygnus continued, in a shout. "If none of you will cease your foolish bickering long enough – I will find him myself and I will _make the bastard pay!_"

"Father, stop."

Narcissa's voice came from the door, a tiny peep, barely audible. Rabastan glanced at her, and saw her frozen, half-hidden behind the door, peering out with wide, fearful eyes. He wanted to scream at her to leave, run, get away, but long before he could find those words, Cygnus was on his feet, across the room, and had his hand knotted in her hair. He dragged her head back, and she let out a little strangled cry.

"Let go of her!" Bellatrix sprang up from her seat, but Cygnus ignored her. He shook Narcissa roughly by her long hair.

"Don't you think whoever killed Joseph Lestrange should suffer for it? Are you protecting whoever did it?"

"Don't be a fool, Cygnus. How would the girl know any such thing?" Walburga snapped. She rose from her seat and snatched Cygnus's hands away from Narcissa. "She is only a child, after all, and a stupid one at that."

"She knows!" Cygnus insisted. "Look at her and tell me that she does not!"

"You are making a fool of yourself," Druella said sharply. "Would Joseph wish you to display this sort of behaviour?"

"How _dare_ you lecture me as if you knew Joseph better than I did?" Cygnus rounded on her now. "You never knew Joseph! None of you–"

"_I_ knew Joseph; would you presume to say you knew him better than I did?" Maria rose up on the chaise, cheeks flushing crimson. "I was his _wife_."

"You were _barely_ a wife to him! He despised you!"

"Have we come at an inconvenient time?"

Cygnus spun around and came nose-to-nose with Elisabeth Malfoy, who had appeared quite abruptly in the doorway. She regarded him coolly, one corner of her mouth ever-so-slightly lifted in the smallest sneer. Not until Cygnus had looked down and moved away from her did she turn her imperious stare on the rest of the room. She thrust her cloak into Cygnus's hands, and he tossed it aside with a look of disgust, crushing the peacock feathers that adorned it.

"My condolences, Maria," she said, and swept in as if she owned the manor. Abraxas followed her, lips pressed into a thin line, and Lucius came after him, with a quivering Narcissa on his arm.

"Such a tragedy," she continued. "But we must maintain our dignity even in the darkest of times, must we not, Cygnus?"

"Of course," mumbled Cygnus. He retreated to the chair in which he had sat before, and crossed his arms across his chest, keeping his head down the whole time. Elisabeth seated herself gracefully in an armchair, her hands curled over the edges of the arms, and Abraxas joined Druella on the couch. Lucius greeted Rabastan with a nod, then took a place on another couch, with Narcissa still pressed close to his side.

Elisabeth looked to Rabastan as well. Her grey eyes were piercing and cold as pieces of steel, and Rabastan could not bear to look into them for very long. She looked as if she was reading his mind, and he didn't want a single soul knowing what was in his mind.

"My condolences also to you, Rabastan, Rodolphus," she said, and inclined her head slightly. "Losing a parent is very difficult, I know."

"It has been extremely difficult for them, yes," Bellatrix spoke up. There was a slight tremor in her voice, and her eyes kept flickering back to Cygnus, but her face was smooth and painted with sympathy.

"And for you?"

"I was not terribly well-acquainted with Joseph Lestrange, but my heart aches for his family." Very briefly, Bellatrix's eyes narrowed, but then they relaxed, and she shook her head. "I admit that I am shocked as well."

"We all are," Druella added.

Maria put her hand lightly over her eyes. "I feel weak," she murmured, and slumped back limply against her chaise. "Rabastan, be a darling and fetch Orion and his boys – then we may start the proper proceedings. I believe they're in the garden."

Rabastan felt a little twinge of annoyance at being sent away, but he was pleased to have an excuse to leave the room. With the Malfoys, a new stiffness had settled over the room, and he felt as if he was under a microscope for as long as he was with them. He rose and left the room as quickly as he could manage without actually running.

If anything, the rain outside had gotten heavier, and lightning flashed when Rabastan opened the doors and stepped outside. A shudder ran through his body.

"I suppose you're here looking for me?"

Orion's voice sounded dull and slightly slurred, and Rabastan whipped around to see him emerging from a thicket of skeletal trees.

"And your sons, yes." Rabastan struggled to make his voice sound appropriately polite, but still as hollow and sad as he supposed a grieving son's voice should sound.

"Oh..." Orion blinked around slightly blearily. "Well, you go on and look for them, then. I suppose they're about somewhere."

"I should think so." Rabastan brushed past him, head down, and stepped into the thicket.

The sounds rain beating against the ground and the dreadful stone statues that his father had decorated the garden with, the brittle branches scratching together, and the rush of cuttingly cold wind, filled Rabastan's ears. He was half-blinded by the rain, but he lifted his hand to shield his eyes and squinted through the rain for Sirius and Regulus.

He heard them before he saw them, and not until he was halfway around the house. Their whispering was barely audible over the rain, but there was a tone in Sirius's low murmur that was instantly recognizable to Rabastan, and it drew him like a flame drawing a moth.

The boys were standing against the garden wall to shield them from the rain, and they were locked in an embrace that froze Rabastan in place.

The way Regulus clung to Sirius, as if he was his only anchor to the world, was heart-wrenchingly familiar – it was a sort of embrace that Rabastan knew intimately. Sirius looked nothing like Rodolphus – scrawny, unkempt, all knees and elbows – and Regulus had even less of Rabastan about him – barely shorter than Sirius, rosy-cheeked and gracefully plump – but still, the way he had his arms locked around Sirius's neck and his face pressed into his chest was no different than how Rabastan had held to his own older brother when he was a child. Sirius had one arm about Regulus's waist, and the other in his hair, and he was whispering in his ear, and his face was just visible to Rabastan. His eyebrows were drawn together, his mouth pressed down into a small frown, muscles tense around his eyes and cheeks. He looked as if he was in horrible pain.

Then he glanced up and saw Rabastan, and he immediately loosened his hold on his brother, his face relaxed, and he all but pushed Regulus away.

Rabastan's heart ached for them. Did Sirius already have words for whatever more-than-brotherly feelings he might have for Regulus, and how long would it be before he learned to hate himself for them? Did Regulus know the look on his brother's face when they held each other – did he know what it meant? Or would he go for years, fearing and disguising his feelings for his brother, believing that they weren't requited? Rabastan wanted to run to them, to hold them, to tell them that they were _right_ to love each other the way they did, that hiding it would only hurt them more.

"What?" Sirius asked brusquely, and Rabastan was jerked from his reverie.

"You're to come inside," he said, and was surprised at how sharp his voice sounded. "For the funeral."

Sirius stuck out his chin defiantly, but didn't say anything, and strode past Rabastan, but Regulus hung back and looked up at him with worried eyes.

"What's the matter with you, then?" Rabastan's cheeks heated a little under the small boy's stare, and he felt a twinge of guilt. He shouldn't have even been thinking about Regulus and Sirius; they were too young, far too young...

"Is it true what people say about you and your brother?" Regulus whispered.

Rabastan's stomach lurched, but with shock and fear, or with _pride_, he could not be sure.

He glanced over his shoulder. Sirius and Orion were gone – inside already, he presumed – and he looked back to Regulus with his heart beating in his throat.

"How good are you at keeping secrets?"

"Very good," Regulus said immediately, and lifted his head a little – clearly proud of himself and his ability to keep secrets. "I've never told one."

"Good." Rabastan's palms were wet with perspiration, and he became aware that he had balled them into fists. He stooped so he was eye-to-eye with Regulus. "It's all true. Every word of it."

Regulus swallowed visibly, and Rabastan, suddenly delirious with the pleasure of telling the secret (not _having it discovered_, but _telling it_, of his own volition), leaned in even closer and whispered into Regulus's ear.

"Your brother loves you as much as Rodolphus loves me."

He stood up quickly then, and headed back for the door, before taking a proper look at Regulus's face, but he was quite willing to bet that the expression he would have seen if he had looked was a mix of pride, doubt, and relief.


	80. Chapter 80

"Get away from him!" was the first thing out of Druella's mouth when Regulus and Sirius trudged back up to the sitting-room, Rabastan trailing behind. She sprung up and physically dragged the boys away from him.

"I will thank you to unhand my sons, Druella," Walburga said dryly, barely sparing them a glance. "Afraid that corruption is catching?"

"Forgive me for not approving of leaving young boys alone with a–"

"Say _one word_," Maria hissed from her chaise. "Say _one more word_, Druella, and I _swear to you–_"

"Oh, stop it, Maria," Walburga said irritably. "You are in no state to make threats; it's obvious enough that you can't do anything to carry them out. Druella, I propose that you reserve some of the energy that you so enjoy expending on insulting Maria's children for raising your own."

"I propose we go on with the funeral proceedings, then return to our respective homes to reflect in solemnity without becoming distracted by argument," Elisabeth said, and Maria inclined her head.

"Then let us go down – the casket is in the downstairs drawing-room."

"The casket?" Rodolphus, who had been sitting with his head on Bellatrix's shoulder, stiffened visibly. "Are we- will we see him?"

"Yes, of course." Maria struggled to her feet, then put out her arms. She wobbled terribly in place. "Rodolphus, Rabastan, would you–"

Rodolphus was at her side in an instant, arm around her waist (_already unhealthily slim after childbearing_, Rabastan noticed), and she clutched his shoulder with one hand and extended the other to Rabastan.

It took all the self-control he had to take it without sneering or shuddering. Her palm was soft and damp and too warm, and she squeezed his fingers much too tightly before drawing him towards her and putting her arm around his shoulders. The full swell of her breast pushed against his upper arm.

_She was smaller than he remembered_.

Maria was not a tall woman, barely taller than Druella and inches shorter than Walburga or Elisabeth, dwarfed by Rodolphus or by Joseph, but she had always been taller than Rabastan. He had always been the right height to be smothered in her breast (or her stomach, when he was very small), a little too short to put his chin on her shoulder, and he had given up hope of being taller than her by the time he was thirteen. But now, now he could only have been an inch or two shorter than her. It was startling.

"You've grown, Rab," Maria said, in a voice soft and sweet as powdered sugar, and he could only nod numbly. _Yes. I have_.

At the back of Maria's neck, Rodolphus's fingers brushed against Rabastan's. They were cold and clammy and trembling, and Rabastan wanted to push Maria away so he could put his arms around his brother and try to calm him.

But, of course, he didn't.

He and Rodolphus flanked Maria all the way down the sweeping stairs and into the roomy lower drawing-room, where heavy drapes shaded the windows. A long, black coffin stood raised on a pedestal in the centre of the room. Rabastan felt Maria's body jerk against his, and when he turned, he saw her looking at Rodolphus, who had stopped short.

"No," Rodolphus whispered. "No, oh, God, no."

"Rod..."

"I can't- I-" He let go of Maria and took half a step back, but Bellatrix was behind him, and she caught him and propelled him forward towards the casket. Tears glittered visibly on Rodolphus's cheeks.

Rabastan looked away. It made him feel disoriented to see his brother so distressed, and worse to think that it was his fault, even if he was sure that he had done the right thing. And so he stared at the casket instead, and watched as Maria drew her wand with a shaking hand and lifted the lid.

Joseph looked as cold and emotionless in death as he had in life. His face was ash pale, eyes closed (Rabastan would ever remember them as wide and staring up at him from the step where he had crumpled), and he was dressed in finest dress robes of deep grey-red velvet, adorned with jet buttons at the wrists and throat. The crisp white linen collar and sleeves of the shirt beneath were just visible. His arms were folded across his chest, hands upon the opposite upper arms, somewhere between an Egyptian mummy's pose and crossing one's arms in disapproval.

It was jarring, in a way, to look at Joseph's corpse and feel so little. All the others in the room seemed profoundly affected. Rodolphus had backed away against the wall, one hand over his face – fingers apart slightly, and he was staring through them – and the other gripping the edge of a side-table. Maria began to cry quietly, tears slipping down her cheeks with no more sound than the slight hitching of her breath. Elisabeth clasped her hands and bowed her head, and Abraxas followed suit. Lucius's eyes lingered a moment longer on the corpse, but then he lowered his head as well. Regulus and Sirius inched forward to peer over the casket's edge, then drew back, clinging to each other's hands, and Walburga, tight-lipped and staring, put her hands on their shoulders and pulled them backwards. Orion shook his head solemnly, though his eyes were dull and unfocused. Druella let out a pained little sob and covered her mouth, and Narcissa, eyes wide as saucers, clung to her dress like a child. Even Bellatrix had gone white, and was making no move to comfort or silence Rodolphus.

And Cygnus – Cygnus showed the most pain. Upon seeing Joseph, he let out a cry like a wounded animal and threw himself forward across the coffin. Rabastan startled, and he saw his hands against Joseph's shoulders, shaking him as if to wake him, and heard his sobbing, and when he tilted his head, he saw Cygnus's flushed cheek crushed against Joseph's pale one. Rabastan could not quite tell, but he thought Cygnus might be pressing kisses against Joseph's waxen countenance.

"Cygnus," Walburga said coolly, sharply, and he pulled back, cheeks freshly tearstained. Maria, crying more loudly now, pushed him aside to rearrange Joseph's robes.

"You make a fool of yourself," Walburga told him, but Cygnus ignored her and just stared into the casket, sobbing brokenly.

"I think there is no reason to draw this out," Elisabeth said. As brisk as she was, there was an audible note of genuine sorrow in her voice. "Who is to deliver the eulogy? Maria?"

"Cygnus," Maria whispered, and glared at Cygnus, who passed his hands over his eyes, then took a shaky breath.

"J- Joseph Lestrange was the most- among the most honourable men I have ever known-" His voice was almost inaudible, so choked was it with tears and emotion. "A loving... doting husband... a strong father... even in the past few days, when, as we all know, his reputation suffered a terrible blow, he never allowed his dignity to slip..."

Rabastan glanced back at Rodolphus, then at Bellatrix, trying to catch their eyes so that they might share in the knowledge of the irony and untruthfulness of what he was saying, but Rodolphus's face was hidden and Bellatrix refused to look at Rabastan.

"I am proud to have called him a friend, proud to say that he knew me as few others- as no other-"

Cygnus broke off then, and dissolved into tears, and nothing anyone said could console him. The speaking part of the funeral was brought to a hasty close, with a few tearfully mumbled sentences from Maria about love and marriage and loyalty, and then she too was overcome. It was Walburga, stony-faced as ever, who drew her wand and bore the coffin out of doors, with the rest of the little funeral party trailing after her.

A patch of land had been prepared beneath a grand oak tree, sheltered from the rain by the broad branches as well as by magic. As the casket was lowered into the hole, Rabastan tried in vain to feel sorry for what he had done, or even just feel sad that he would never again see his father, but he could not. There was, in fact, a sense of satisfaction to be had when Maria conjured an armful of roses and sweet peas and cast them down upon the coffin before sealing it in the earth. There was a pleasure in thinking that Joseph was dead, gone, _completely and irreversibly gone._

There were no further speeches, only quiet murmurings of last condolences as, one after the other, the guests drew bunches of flowers out of the air to lay upon the grave. The overturned earth was soon littered with dark crimson roses, dahlias, asphodel and red tulips from Cygnus, and a single peacock feather from Elisabeth. Rabastan had no flowers to lay down, and conjured none for himself. What was the use?

It seemed like they spent an eternity standing there, uselessly, around the grave, before guests began to filter away at last, always with whispered apologies to Maria for her loss. Only Walburga and Narcissa thought to give Rabastan or Rodolphus words of consolation (though perhaps Walburga's crisp "I'm sorry" could not really be called _consolation_). When at last only Bellatrix, Rodolphus, Rabastan, and Maria stood at the grave, Maria spoke up quietly.

"I wonder," she whispered, "whether I might have a few moments alone with my son."

The singular _son_ hurt Rabastan to his core. Would it have troubled her so to just say _Rodolphus_? Did she have to pretend that he didn't exist, when he was standing at her arm? But fine, let her and Rodolphus suffer together – he only hoped that Rodolphus wouldn't forget himself and tell their secret.

Rabastan started to turn away, but Maria reached out and caught his arm.

"I asked if I might have a few moments alone with you, Rabastan," she repeated, and she didn't even glance over her shoulder at Rodolphus.


	81. Chapter 81

Rabastan felt cold all over. It was over. She knew. God only knew _how_ she knew, but she knew that Rabastan was a murderer, that he had killed Joseph, and probably all the other horrible things he had done. This was the end for him. He would be sent away to Azkaban, bring shame upon the family, probably never be able to see Rodolphus again–

Rodolphus looked fearfully at him, with red eyes shining with tears, but Bellatrix caught him firmly by his arm and dug her nails in visibly.

"Of course," she said, and dragged Rodolphus away, leaving Rabastan and Maria alone beside the grave.

Maria took an unsteady step towards him, and Rabastan fell back automatically, involuntarily. He didn't want his mother's touch, didn't want her anywhere near him, especially not when she brought down the accusation that would ruin his life forever...

"Rabastan," she said quietly, and her voice thickened with tears. "My Rabastan. My little boy." Her hands flashed out and she caught him by his shoulders before he could dart away. He was trapped.

"I'm not so little anymore," he mumbled, and sounded petulant even to himself.

"You'll always be my little boy." She stroked his cheek with a fluttery hand. It felt like spiders crawling across his skin. "And I know- I know that there have been times when- when you've thought that I love Rodolphus more than you..."

Rabastan's stomach tightened. Was she going to deny it? _Oh_, he would _love_ to hear her justify all her behaviour of the past eighteen years – how could she possibly frame it in any way _but_ that she loved Rodolphus more than she loved him? It was a matter of fact that he was the lesser son and always would be.

"You must know that you've always been my special son... my darling..." Again, her hand passed over Rabastan's cheek, while her other hand tightened on his shoulder and pulled him slightly closer. He could feel her fingers digging into his shoulder blade, quite painfully. "Always."

_Have I, Mother?_

He said nothing, and when silence stretched for too long, Maria put her arms about him and drew him close against her into a smothering embrace. She smelled as she always had, of sickly perfume underscored with notes of vodka, but there was also a coppery smell about her now, as of blood, that made Rabastan simultaneously want to retch and want to breathe more deeply. She put her hand against his head and forced his head against her bosom as sharply as if she was forcing it underwater to drown him.

If only she would just _get on with it_.

Rabastan struggled to extricate himself from her embrace, but even in her sickly state, she was stronger than he. He felt as helpless in her arms now as he ever had as a child.

"Mother," he managed at last. "Mother, about what happened to Father–"

Maria cut him off with a sharp noise of disgust. "_Him!_ I mustn't speak ill of the dead..." Her voice broke. "But I must admit, I am far from sad to see him go."

Rabastan blinked at her, stunned into silence, and she hurriedly added, "Oh, you mustn't think me cold-hearted, Rab. But what would he have done if he had lived? After what your wife said about him- about me- about you... I don't know what I would have done if he hadn't died." She laughed a small, entirely mirthless laugh. "That must sound dreadful, mustn't it?"

_Rather, yes._

"But," she continued hastily, "it is still such a tragedy- and I can only imagine how difficult it must be for you..."

"And Rodolphus," Rabastan murmured.

Maria's face changed. Her eyes hardened and she pressed her lips into a thin, tight line, and her nose twitched with visible disgust.

"_Rodolphus._" She spat out the name as if it tasted sour. "Yes, I expect it's difficult for him as well. But you will forgive me if I find it difficult to pity him at this moment."

Rabastan eyed her warily, and she made a noise somewhere between a snort and a sob. "After all, I lost a baby because of him."

Rabastan's soul lit with a surge of protectiveness. "It isn't his fault!" he blurted out, before he could even stop to think. Maria looked at him sharply.

"Of course it's his fault. What do you know of childbearing, Rabastan? I know what causes a stillbirth, and I should have known that Rodolphus was not a suitable father. After all, he may have seemed strong and healthy, but that is no indication of virility in a man – why, look at your own father! _He_ seemed plentifully strong and healthy when we were married!"

Maria sickened Rabastan. He turned away, intending to leave then, before he might do something he regretted, but she caught his shoulder again and jerked him back towards her.

"And so Rodolphus was sicker and weaker than I thought," she said, and she spoke in an odd, strained hiss. "But I know- I _know_ that I could not have had two such impotent sons. I could not – God wouldn't be so cruel."

There was a disconcerting fever in her eyes, and Rabastan struggled to get free of her grip, to no avail.

"Rabastan." She clutched at him and stared directly into his eyes. "My Rabastan."

And then, in a flurry of damp, red hair, she was upon him, her mouth pressed against his, her arms pressing him so tightly to her body that she might have been trying to absorb him into herself.

Her kiss was nothing like Bellatrix's, and with her, Rabastan felt all the discomfort and disgust he had ever had towards the thought of being intimate with a woman come rushing back a hundredfold. He struggled against her and clawed at her arms and bit at her lips until finally she was forced to release him. When at last she did, there were tears streaming down her face, or perhaps it was rainwater, or perhaps some of both.

"Rabastan." _As if by repeating his name, she would somehow draw him to her_. "Rabastan, I only–"

"Don't!" He didn't mean to shout, but shout he did. "Don't touch me! Not ever again!"

"Please, Rabastan, you must understand- _surely_ you understand how I need to carry on the bloodline..."

"I don't _care_!" And, damnit, now Rabastan was becoming tearful as well. _No_. He tried to choke back his tears. "I don't care about the bloodline – don't you dare put your hands on me again!" There was a rushing in his ears, and he lashed out at her wildly with his hand and felt it connect with flesh. Whether he struck her cheek, arm, or breast, he was unsure. Words spilled from his mouth, words he had never meant to say. "Do you think I believe you when you say you loved me? I know you never did! It was always Rodolphus you loved better! You thought I was going to die, that's why you fucked Rodolphus in the first place – if you loved me so much, you wouldn't have been so- so _resigned!_"

"Rab–" she began again, but he cut her off.

"And it _is_ your fault the baby died, not Rodolphus's! There's nothing wrong with him, not a goddamned thing!"

"Rabastan!" Maria seemed almost as offended by his language as by the things he was saying, but Rabastan was well past caring.

"You're too old to carry children, and you drink, and you're his _mother_ – of course it died! And it's a fucking mercy too, because no one should grow up with _you_ for a mother!"

Maria began to cry in earnest, and Rabastan paused for a second to enjoy her anguish before going on. When he did speak again, he managed to stop himself shouting, and spoke instead in tones of deepest disgust.

"And did you ever think I would _want_ you, Mother? I don't know how you could be so _blind_! Even Rodolphus didn't want you, and he really did love you once, _and_ he's not–"

Rabastan silenced himself then, bit back another shard of truth that he might have flung at his mother. _Now was not the time_, he counselled himself, not the time to betray that he found the idea of lying with any woman supremely distasteful, not only the idea of lying with her. The point – the knowledge that she could not expect the bloodline to carry on through him – would likely not have sunk in.

"What would you say to people if you got with child now, after Father is dead?" he spat instead. "Whose child would you say it was?"

"I don't- I don't–" Maria pressed her hands over her face, and her shoulders shook. She sank down on the ground – no mind for the mud staining her dress – and sobbed with a disgusting helplessness. Rabastan had no patience for her stammering explanations. There was no way for her to justify it, _any of it_, and now, in his rage, he only hoped she stewed in her own guilt until it devoured her from the inside out.

"Go to Hell," he hissed, then added, in the most derisive tone he could muster, "_Mother._"


	82. Chapter 82

Rodolphus was up off the sofa and hurrying towards Rabastan even before the parlour door swung shut behind him. Bellatrix didn't stand, but she looked up sharply at Rabastan too.

"What did she want?" Rodolphus asked. "What did she say to you? What's the matter?" he added, when Rabastan didn't say anything.

"Rabastan..." Bellatrix rose up slowly, her eyes narrowed. "You didn't tell her, did you?"

He shook his head dumbly, and looked away. The anger and hatred he felt for his mother was still boiling just beneath the surface, barely alleviated by the things he had said to her. He wanted to take a long bath, to wash away her touch and her kiss, for every place where her skin had come in contact with his burned as if he had touched acid.

"Did she ask?" pressed Bellatrix, and Rabastan shook his head again. "Well then, what–"

"She wanted to fuck me."

Rabastan's voice did not sound like his own, and the words out of his mouth made the anger rise up in his throat like bile. He looked up at Rodolphus, in time to see the concern and sadness lining his face melt into shock.

"She..." Rodolphus's voice was hoarse. "She... what?"

"She wanted to fuck me. Apparently," Rabastan looked down and busied himself with undoing his cloak so he would not have to meet his brother's eyes. He tugged at the fastenings so roughly that one button burst off, and he threw it down on the floor like it was _its_ fault. "Apparently she thinks that, if you can't give her a healthy baby, I can. She thinks she can't have two impotent sons. 'God wouldn't be so cruel', I believe, was how she put it."

"But..." Rodolphus sounded simply dumbfounded. "But you're sickly."

"I know that."

"So why would she want _you_?"

Rodolphus didn't mean for the question to sound harsh, surely, but in his agitated state, Rabastan turned on him.

"How should I know? I don't want _her_, it's not as if I was doing anything to try to seduce her! And she's sick in the head besides; she doesn't actually _want_ me! She just wants a baby! You should know that – she didn't want you either!"

Rodolphus's lips pressed into a thin line. "I didn't want her either, you know."

"Sometimes I wonder!" Rabastan spat back. "You don't seem to hate her nearly as much as she deserves!"

"She's our mother!"

"She came on to me!" Rabastan clenched his hands into fists. He almost wanted to slap his brother. "Maybe that's all right with _you_, but–"

"It's not all right with me!" Tears were gathering in Rodolphus's eyes, though he was obviously doing all he could to fight them back. "If she had- hurt you-"

"_Fucked_ me–"

"I wouldn't have let her get away with it!"

"What would you have done, Rodolphus?" Bellatrix interrupted coolly. From two steps back, she was observing the argument with something almost akin to amusement on her face. "Killed her? You and Rab could be a matched set of parent-killers."

"Don't, Bella!" Rodolphus didn't look at her. "If she had hurt Rabastan, I might..."

"You wouldn't have," Rabastan snapped. "Don't pretend like you would when you were sobbing into her breast at the funeral like some sort of–"

"Stop it, you know I wouldn't let anyone hurt you!"

"You're a bit late on that, aren't you? You haven't been doing much of a job of protecting me when it matters, have you?"

"So, how did you manage to get away from her?" Bellatrix asked, completely ignoring Rodolphus, and any of their arguing. "I assume you _did_ manage to get away,. Unless you were shockingly quick about it, which wouldn't surprise me..."

"I told her where to get off," Rabastan snapped. He didn't feel like answering Bellatrix's glib questions, especially not when they were coupled with insults. "I told her it was her fault that the baby died, not Rodolphus's, and doing it with me wouldn't help any, and I don't even know what she was planning to say if she _did_ get pregnant, with Father dead."

"It wasn't her fault!" cried Rodolphus, and Rabastan wished he had the nerve – or the physical strength – to reach out and shake him. "She was shocked because of what Andromeda said!"

"Please! Do you really think that _thing_ would have survived?" It was impossible for Rabastan to keep the sheer disgust out of his voice, for the image of the unformed baby was still horribly clear in his mind. "It was dead long before Andromeda said anything!"

"How can you say that when you don't know anything about childbirth?"

"As if _you_ do!"

"I saw when _you_ were born! And Mother's given birth before, so she should know better than either of us whose fault it is, and she says it's mine–"

"She's _lying!_" Rabastan really did reach out then, and shook Rodolphus by his shoulders, and, to his surprise, managed to shake him hard enough to make him stumble. "Don't you see it? Do you just believe every word that comes out of her mouth? Even after what she _did to you?_"

"Let go of him, Rab," Bellatrix said, rather lazily, and when Rabastan didn't, she stepped forward, took him by the shoulder of his shirt, and physically lifted him away from Rodolphus with such ease that he might have weighed nothing at all. She stood between the two of them, placed her hands on her hips, and looked from one man to the other.

"What is it, Rodolphus? Are you jealous of your brother?" A little sneer was playing upon her lips, and she tipped her head from side to side. "You aren't exactly acting like someone who's so angry at your mother that you'd almost be willing to kill her. Afraid you're not the favourite anymore, Rodolphus?"

"Don't say things like that to him!" Rabastan said automatically, and Bellatrix looked at him with an expression of exasperation that was almost fond.

"Aren't you the dutiful boy today? You're being so _moral_, Rab, I wouldn't have expected it of you. First you don't fuck your mother, then you leap to your brother's defence, even though he's _obviously_ just hurt that she doesn't want him anymore..."

"I'm not!" Rodolphus protested. "I just don't want her doing anything to Rabastan!"

"Really, Rodolphus? Not even a little shred of jealousy?" Bellatrix stepped towards him until they were almost touching, and put her fingers beneath his chin. "Are you telling me that it doesn't sting that, after all you've done for her, after what a good son you've been, and even though Rabastan is smaller and weaker and not _nearly_ so handsome, she'd still rather have him in her bed?"

"What are you playing at?" Rodolphus's voice came out in a choked whisper. "Are you _trying_ to upset me- do you think I'm too happy right now, is that it? You think everything that's happened over the last few days _hasn't been enough?_"

"Just trying to upset you? Oh, Rodolphus, I wouldn't be so cruel," she purred, and stood on her toes so their noses were quite level and just inches apart. "If it matters at all, _I'd_ still rather bed you than your brother."

To Rabastan's surprise and annoyance, he felt a twinge of resentment in his stomach. He wanted to snap at her that if she didn't want to bed him, she ought to stop kissing him, but, of course, he couldn't say that, not without putting Rodolphus into an even worse state than he was already in. The feeling of resentment intensified when Bellatrix kissed Rodolphus firmly on his mouth. He slumped against her, and Rabastan was seized by a desperate wish to break them apart, to force himself between their bodies...

As if possessed, he actually found himself moving towards them, and Bellatrix's hand unwound itself from around Rodolphus's shoulder and reached out to him, as if she was planning to draw him into the embrace. She broke away from Rodolphus – whose eyes were tightly closed, tears streaming from beneath his eyelids – and looked at Rabastan, ran her tongue around her lips, lifted her hand to beckon him, and he was actually moving towards her, as if he was _actually planning to join her and his brother_...

From downstairs, the doorbell clanged, and Rabastan jumped so badly that he almost lost his balance. Bellatrix let go of Rodolphus and stepped back, and Rodolphus wiped his eyes quickly and hastily.

"Damn," Bellatrix mumbled, smoothing her hair down. "Who could that be? Not someone coming to give their condolences to you two, I hope."

Rabastan shrugged, and Rodolphus shook his head and wiped his eyes again.

After Maria, after Bellatrix, Rabastan could hardly bear to look at his brother at all.


	83. Chapter 83

Bellatrix slammed impatiently out of the parlour, and Rabastan could hear her stamping down the stairs. Rodolphus, who had seen nothing of Bellatrix's gestures towards his brother, followed her. Rabastan hung back for a few moments, not wanting to see whoever it was that came to the door, but he felt like a fool standing there in the parlour waiting for them to come back, so, at last, he dragged himself through the doorway and towards the stairs, lost in a bitter reverie.

He hated Bellatrix. He had never liked her, and over the course of the past year, she had given him more than ample reason to call his feelings for her hatred. He certainly didn't desire her on the basis of her appearance, no – but there was something about the impassioned moments they had shared, always hasty and always in the wake of murder...

Rabastan was halfway down the stairs when Bellatrix reached the door and flung it open, and what he saw stopped him dead in his tracks and wiped all thoughts of sex cleanly from his mind.

Bellatrix froze in place too, Rodolphus took a step back, and for a second they all fell into stunned silence, then Bellatrix let out a cry and flung her arms around their visitor's neck.

"_Andromeda!_" she cried, and the joy and relief in her voice were remarkable to hear.

Andromeda did not push her sister away, but neither did she return the embrace. She stood still, looking around at the three of them, until at last Bellatrix stepped away.

"I was so sure you wouldn't come back- oh, Andi!" Bellatrix's voice shook with excitement and emotion. "Did you hear the news – Joseph Lestrange is dead – I thought you'd be pleased to know, after what the bastard did to you..."

"Which one of you did it?" Andromeda asked flatly, and Bellatrix was startled into momentary silence.

"We..."

"Don't bother lying, Bellatrix. You'd all have good reason, and I don't put it past any of you to commit murder."

"I..." Bellatrix seemed lost as to what to say. "Andromeda, I've been worried – I asked the Dark Lord to try to find you, I was so certain..."

"That's what I came here to say," Andromeda interrupted, in a voice so cold that Rabastan could practically feel the temperature in the room going down. "Stop searching for me. I'm not coming back."

Bellatrix took a step back, and caught the edge of the looking glass to steady herself.

"Oh- oh." Her voice suddenly went quite quiet. "I... I thought..."

"I know what you thought. But I wouldn't have said the things I said if I thought I might ever want to come running back to you." Andromeda's face was as devoid of emotion as her voice. "This will be the last time I ever speak to you."

"Andi... Andromeda..." Bellatrix reached out and caught Andromeda's hand tightly. "Fine, go, I don't blame you, but please do me one last favour. Take Narcissa with you. Andromeda, _please_, she needs you, and I can't take care of her myself–"

Andromeda wrenched her hand back away from Bellatrix. "I don't want _anything_ more to do with _any _of you. Narcissa isn't my responsibility anymore."

"She's your _sister–_"

"Not anymore," Andromeda repeated, and raised her voice a little. "Do you really think there's any room left on the family tree for me after what I've done? No. I'm not a Black anymore, nor a Lestrange, and I'm glad of it."

"Narcissa hasn't got anything to do with that! She hasn't done anything wrong – please, just–"

"You just don't understand, do you?" Andromeda almost shouted. "I've got a new life now, one I've worked hard to make for myself, and there _is no room for any of you in it!_"

Rabastan found himself at the foot of the stairs without any recollection of how he managed to get there. He couldn't take his eyes off Andromeda, standing on the doorstep with an angry flush in her cheeks and her eyes filled with loathing.

Bellatrix let out a very small, feeble laugh. "Not even for Narcissa, your own sister, who never did anything wrong–"

"I don't think my husband would like that," Andromeda spat, and Rabastan felt like someone had just pulled the floor out from under his feet.

Bellatrix stared, mouth ajar, and, for once, Andromeda looked as smug as Bellatrix ever had.

"Your husband?"

"Yes," she said, and with something almost like glee, she added, "My _Mudblood_ husband."

"You! _You are my wife!_"

The words burst from Rabastan's mouth before he was aware of them, but he was so blinded by sudden rage that he didn't care to regret them.

"I was." Andromeda's lip curled with disgust. "But now I am Ted Tonks' wife – you remember Ted, don't you? _The man you nearly killed_?"

Rabastan struck Andromeda across the face, and she struck him right back without a second's hesitation.

"But..." Bellatrix spoke up in a low, uncertain voice. "But... a _man..._"

"Yes, Bellatrix, _he is a man_." Andromeda turned on her sister again, lip pulled back in a snarl. "But he was the one person willing to help me, the one person willing to shelter me from the likes of _you_, and for that, I care for him more than I will ever care for anyone else, woman or not. And maybe! Maybe, someday, I'll come to love him, or maybe I won't, but I know at least that I will never hate him the way I hate you! Unlike you three – you, Bellatrix, and you, Rabastan, with your _Dark Lord_, and you! Rodolphus!" She turned on him with fire in her eyes. "With your _mother _ – I do not consider my own _satisfaction_ to be more important thandoing what is right."

"My mother and I–" Rodolphus began, and Rabastan could sense his rage, see it in the way he drew himself up, hear it in his voice, but Bellatrix interrupted.

"What has Rodolphus _ever_ done to you, Andromeda? What has he done to grieve you so badly that you feel the need to go on about him and Maria?"

"I'm only telling the truth!" Andromeda fired back. "He's one of you, and he isn't doing anything to stop the rest of you, so why should I think his secrets deserve protection? All of you deserve to have it known what you've done!"

"_How dare–_" Bellatrix began in a positive scream, but Andromeda interrupted her with an even louder scream.

"I wash my hands of you! All of you! I hope the three of you rot in Hell, along with everyone in your godforsaken families!"

Rodolphus caught the door and slammed it shut, cutting Andromeda off sharply, and then slumped against it with his face in his hands. Bellatrix stared, wide-eyed, at the place where her sister had been standing, and Rabastan found that his legs would not support him any longer and took a few steps backwards to sink down onto the bottom step of the staircase.

A long and terrible silence fell over the room, which still echoed with Andromeda's words. Somehow this seemed even worse than her outburst at the party, for then, it had been clear that everything she said was a speech, designed to shock her audience. But now, here, she had been speaking directly to them, no need for theatrics, and _still_ the thing she said were he same.

"Well," Bellatrix whispered at last, without looking to Rabastan or Rodolphus. "Well, if she means what she says, then I hope dearly that she rots in Hell too, in the deepest circle meant for traitors and liars."

She fled then, God only knew where to. It was not until that night that Rabastan saw her again.

He lay abed with Rodolphus, drifting in and out of hazy slumber. Rodolphus lay upon his side with one arm draped around Rabastan's shoulders and the other tucked beneath his own head, and Rabastan lay facing him, with his own arm over his waist. Behind the thick, grey clouds that would not leave, the moonlight offered merely the faintest trace of visibility, just enough for Rabastan to be able to make out his brother's features, creased into a frown as he slept.

He heard, rather than saw, Bellatrix approaching. Only when she was standing over the bed could he see her at all, ghostly pale in her shift, faint traces of light touching her mess of tangled curls, which looked like they had been run through many times with her fingers since last Rabastan saw her.

She stared down at him and Rodolphus for a long time, and he stared back up at her. He didn't move, but the whites of his eyes must have shone enough for her to know he was awake.

For several long, long moments, she was still, then she raised her hand and wiped her eyes, and sank onto the bed on the other side of Rodolphus.

Every muscle in Rabastan's body tensed, and he could have sworn his breathing stopped.

Bellatrix stretched out beside them – if she did know Rabastan was awake, it certainly didn't seem to trouble her. She rolled over so her chest was against Rodolphus's back and ran her hand through his hair with surprising tenderness. Her fingers traced slowly down the side of his neck, then his arm, then his side, and at last they came to rest over Rabastan's own.

She gave his fingers a small squeeze, and Rabastan found he didn't entirely mind.


	84. Chapter 84

Never in his life had Rabastan thought that he would sleep soundly in a bed with Bellatrix, but sleep soundly he did: deep and dreamless sleep in which he drifted to the surface and was vaguely aware of warm arms around him. It was almost disconcerting to feel so safe and comforted. No thoughts of Maria permeated his cocoon, and only righteously bitter thoughts of Andromeda,which warmed his heart in their own way.

But that blissfully painless night had to end eventually, and Rabastan was woken not only by the brightness of the room, but by the absence of his brother's embrace.

He could hear his voice close by and felt the mattress shifting beneath him, and he felt a peculiar twisting in his stomach as he cracked one eyelid.

Rodolphus was lying beside him, very close, close enough that Rabastan could have touched him with only the slightest movement of his hand, and Bellatrix was astride him.

"...Bella, no, not now..." Rodolphus was murmuring, even as Bellatrix pressed kisses along his neck.

"Can't I take comfort in my own husband's presence?" Bellatrix whispered back. Her voice was nothing more than a breath, and had they not been so close to him, Rabastan would not have been able to hear her at all. "I think I've suffered enough to deserve a little affection."

Much to his displeasure, Rabastan felt a twinge of sympathy. _Yes_, he thought, she had suffered. They had all suffered, all three.

"Not _like this_." Rodolphus twisted away, although he might have been arching his back; it was difficult to tell. "Not with Rab _right here_."

"Shh, he's asleep." Bellatrix put her hand on Rodolphus's cheek and turned his head towards her, away from Rabastan.

"No, I'm not."

The words spilled from Rabastan's lips in the same whisper in which Bellatrix spoke. She looked at him, but she did not seem surprised, nor did she do anything to try to regain her modesty.

Rodolphus pushed her hand hurriedly off his cheek and sat up. "Damnit, Rab, I'm sorry- we didn't–"

"Stop it, Rod," Bellatrix said quietly, and Rodolphus looked around at her sharply. She put one hand against the wall and reclined against it. Rabastan could see the outline of her body through her shift, and he turned his eyes to Rodolphus instead. There was a dreadful flush on his cheeks.

"Rabastan doesn't mind," she continued quietly, and twisted one wild black curl around her fingertip while smirking at him. "Do you, Rab?"

Rabastan's throat was hoarse, and he felt a horrible tingling heat run through his whole body.

"Of course he minds," Rodolphus said sharply. "And _I_ mind, Bella, so–"

"I don't mind," Rabastan whispered.

Rodolphus fell abruptly silent. His mouth hung slightly ajar, and he stared at Rabastan blankly.

"You... what?"

"I don't mind," Rabastan repeated, although now that he had actually said it, he was beginning to doubt and regret, espeially because Bellatrix was smiling wickedly at him. She ran her tongue around her lips, and he loathed himself for saying something so foolish and lascivious. Of _course_ he minded – or, at least, he _should_...

"What are you saying, Rab?" Rodolphus whispered. Rabastan's face burned, and he could not bring himself to look at his brother.

"Dear Rodolphus, don't you notice _anything_?" Bellatrix leaned in and nudged her lips against Rodolphus's neck, just below the ear. "Haven't you noticed how _fond_ your brother is becoming of me?"

"Don't, Bella, we all know that isn't true." But there was a waver of doubt in Rodolphus's voice, and when he looked to Rabastan, it looked less like he wanted Rabastan to tell off Bellatrix, and more like he wanted him to assure him that she wasn't right.

"He hates you," Rodolphus continued, looking at Rabastan like he was trying to silently prompt him to say something, though Rabastan could not make any words come out. "He barely tolerates you."

"_I_ barely tolerate _him_," Bellatrix said mildly. Rabastan couldn't even make himself get angry at her, so nervous was he being made by the entire situation. "But he's been proving himself so well, first with the Dark Lord, then with his father–"

"Don't you dare, don't you _dare_ use my father's death–"

Bellatrix ignored him. "And I will confess that I have always been hasty in judging him as foolish and childish–"

"_Bellatrix!_" Rodolphus raised his voice, and Rabastan cringed. "I know, I _know_ Rabastan doesn't want you! He fancies men, and he fancies _me–_"

And Rabastan did not know what Rodolphus said next, because Bellatrix had rolled over Rodolphus, on top of Rabastan, and her mouth was crushed against his.

Rabastan did not struggle. He should have, should have thrown her off, should have fought out of her arms and then clung to Rodolphus and assured him that whatever base lusts he might feel for Bellatrix – and he did have to admit, as she pressed him down onto the mattress, that there _were_ some such lusts – were nothing, nothing at all compared to the love he felt for his brother.

But he did no such thing. His hand found its way to the small of Bellatrix's back, and almost without realizing what he was doing, he pressed her closer against him. She let out a soft purr of satisfaction against his lips.

When Bellatrix broke away – and no, Rabastan did not push her, for there was something about her that made him want to keep kissing her, touching her, perhaps even force her down underneath him and take her, no matter how the thought repulsed him in his mind – Rodolphus had turned away.

"I should have known. I should have known." He raised his hands and pressed them against his eyes. "I don't know why I ever thought _either_ of you would want- no, I don't- go on, then, if you want to–"

"Oh, stop it, Rod." Bellatrix's voice was quiet and breathless. "We aren't going to neglect you. Are we, Rab?"

Rabastan didn't know how Bellatrix wanted him to answer – certainly _he_ didn't want to neglect his brother. She petted his cheek, then reached out and put her arm around Rodolphus's shoulders and pulled him against herself while her other hand ran along Rabastan's neck and shoulder, and suddenly, her intentions became very, _very_ clear.

Rabastan could actually feel his heart rate accelerating. His cheeks went very hot, and he struggled to catch Rodolphus's eye, to communicate to him without speaking that Bellatrix certainly _didn't_ want to neglect either of them, and that, _oh God_, she was intending to have them _both_.

Rodolphus, however, was not looking at Rabastan. His eyes were partially closed, his lips slightly parted, and he let out a sad little groan as Bellatrix kissed his neck and cheek. And still, as engrossed as Bellatrix was in kissing him, her hand was moving over Rabastan, over his chest, his neck, as if she had done this hundreds of times before...

And, damn it all, he _liked_ it. He liked the way she was touching him, liked that she was entwined in his brother's arms at the same time, liked it all much, _much_ too much for his own comfort.

"The three of us have so much in common," Bellatrix whispered into Rodolphus's ear, just loudly enough for Rabastan to hear. "The three of us, the three Lestranges – we share each other's secrets, so why can't we share a bed? Is it that much worse, Rod, to have your wife and your brother at the same time than to have them seperately?"

"_Yes_," Rodolphus mumbled. Bellatrix ignored him. She took her hand off Rabastan and caught him by both shoulders, twisting and pressing him back against the headboard.

"Aren't you _tired _of it, Rod?" she asked, and this time her voice was not the soft, sensual one of a woman trying to seduce, but hard and firm, as it was whenever Bellatrix gave orders. "Don't you get tired of being so sickeningly moral about everything? And isn't it exhausting, when you're doing all the horrible, horrible things we all know you're doing, to have to keep setting arbitrary rules abou what is and isn't acceptable?"

Rodolphus didn't answer. Rabastan was watching him with some interest now, for, in honesty, he did not know what he was going to say. Bellatrix leaned close to him, close enough that their noses were almost touching.

"Just give the act up for us, Rod. Haven't you learned by now that being a good boy doesn't pay?"

Rodolphus said nothing to that either, but he gave his answer with perfect clarity. His arms jerked out in a flash, one locked around Bellatrix's waist, and the other around Rabastan's, and, sp fast that he didn't know what was happening, Rabastan was pressed against and in between two jolting, gyrating bodies.

He felt Rodolphus's firm lips on him, and Bellatrix's soft ones, and knew not who was kissing whom or from what direction, and found he didn't care at all. What he did care about was Rodolphus's whisper, so low that he barely heard it, only felt the vibrations of his voice in his chest, "_Yes_. You're right. You're _right_."


	85. Chapter 85

Rabastan did not know what he expected after that. He fell asleep again from sheer exhaustion upon Rodolphus's still-heaving chest, with Bellatrix's arm draped across his back and her legs all tangled up with his, and when he woke, he was in an empty bed with a searing pain in his forearm.

He scrambled up out of bed, disoriented from sleeping all day, and his hands felt rubbery and weak as he tried to pull on shirt and trousers. He did wonder, as he hurried to dress, where Bellatrix and Rodolphus were, but when he arrived at the Dark Lord's flat, they were already there, seated together and looking perfectly composed.

For the first time since their wedding, Rabastan was struck by how very fine they looked together. Bellatrix, perched with all a lady's poise upon the edge of the sofa, curved slightly against Rodolphus's shoulder, but it was more than the way they sat together that made them look well-suited. They shared an expression quite different from those that they ordinarily wore. Both of their faces were smooth, almost expressionless, with just slight smiles about their lips, but beneath both pairs of eyes, Rabastan could see matching tones of anger, scorn, and even beneath that, knowing them as well as he did, he could detect something more...

Rabastan sat at Rodolphus's elbow, the three of them occupying the sofa, and as other men filtered into the room, all eyes fell upon them even before they fell upon the Dark Lord.

Some faces were familiar – Rabastan recognized a small, heavyset woman and thin man who walked hunched over from their previous meeting, and Lucius Malfoy was there, but there were new people too, people who Rabastan had never seen before.

The Dark Lord himself sat, composed and regal as ever, and watched as his Death Eaters arranged themselves around him. There were barely more than a dozen people in the room when he began to speak – a group far smaller than those Rabastan had encountered before.

"My Death Eaters," he said, and Rabastan felt a small but intensely pleasurable thrill at being called _his_. "Welcome. I trust that you have all thought on what I said to you when last we met."

Rabastan felt Rodolphus's hand twitch slightly against his, and he himself felt his insides shrivel in shame, for he had thought very little on anything the Dark Lord had said recently. He had been very much distracted, and he was sure that the Dark Lord would not begrudge him putting aside thoughts of Mudbloods and Muggles for a few days in which so much had happened in his family, but he still felt shame for letting the subject slip his mind so completely. Other people in the room were nodding, Bellatrix and Rodolphus among them. The Dark Lord looked around to them with a small and almost indulgent smile, and then said evenly, "And of those of you who have been thinking on it, of those of you who have been giving thought to how dangerous Muggles are, to the threat they pose to us, to the harm they have already caused – who among you has done something to prevent them from ever causing harm to us again?"

The nodding stopped. The upturned faces of the Death Eaters suddenly drew with worry, and many bowed their heads or looked away. Bellatrix was the only one among them who looked on to the Dark Lord without any hint of shame, but he did not acknowledge her.

"As I thought," he said, still as composed as before. "It is all well and good for you to listen and speak on the inferiority and the terror of Mudbloods and Muggles, and yet you are not willing to do more than speak. You are not willing to act."

Rabastan swallowed hard. His face was growing very hot indeed, and there was a great deal of nervous fidgeting. The smile had dropped completely from the Dark Lord's face, and he regarded them all now with a look of cold severity.

"Those of you who have attended meetings in the past will, undoubtably, have noticed that our number tonight is smaller than it has been before. There has been a culling already, of men who believed they could wear the Dark Mark, and yet were too weak or too afraid to act in the name of the beliefs they said they espoused. These were men willing to speak out against Muggles and Mudbloods only in the safety of this room, where they knew they could not be attacked by those who do not see how dangerous Muggles are, or who believe they should be left alone despite those dangers. These men are not wrong, for they at least do know within their own minds the truth of what we say, but they are not worthy to be called Death Eaters."

The room was deadly silent now. Rabastan could hear his own ragged breathing, and Rodolphus's, and that of many of the others in the room.

"Every man and woman here," the Dark Lord continued, "is here because I know them to be strong enough to stand by their convictions outside of this room. If I did not believe that of you, you would be gone as those other men are gone. You are all capable of being worthy of the name _Death Eater_, but you must strive for it. Simply understanding our tenants is not enough; you must act in accordance with them, and this means that every man and woman here has a _responsibility_..." His voice was rising slightly, not towards a shout, but growing in strength as if he was speaking to a room far bigger than that which he was in. "A _responsibility_ to do everything within their power to end the fear that Wizards are forced to live in because of Muggles."

He paused and looked around the room again before continuing.

"You may wonder," he said, his voice softer again. "You may wonder what ordinary Witches and Wizards such as yourself can do against such forces. What can you do against such a large number of Muggles, who hold such power as could destroy us all with no more than a word? What can you do, when hundreds of years have taught Wizards to fear Muggles, who have only tried harder and harder as the years pass to destroy us? You wonder what power you have against them. And I will tell you." He leaned forward in his chair, and his eyes burned with intensity. "Muggles as individuals are _nothing_ compared to us. Taken together, they are vicious, but each one alone is weak and afraid. Alone, they can be destroyed as easily as an insect can be crushed."

As if to mark his point, he brought his hand down upon the table without even looking at it. When he raised his hand again, he turned the palm upward, and Rabastan saw the quivering body of a small beetle on its back. A shiver ran up his spine when the Dark Lord closed his hand into a fist, and he was certain that he heard the shell crack.

"There will come a time," he said, quite quietly now, though his voice held a power greater than that it had when he shouted, "when enough Wizards will understand what must be done to Muggles that we may take down their entire world. There will come a time when we have the fearless numbers necessary to disarm them, but that time has not yet come. Our numbers are but small today, and so I do not ask you, my Death Eaters, to bring down the Muggles in a single fell swoop as we might wish we could. No, no, for today, all I ask of you is that you take every opportunity presented to you to weaken the Muggles a little bit. Every Muggle you can kill without putting yourself or your fellow Wizards in immediate danger must be killed. Every instance in which you can strike fear into their hearts, make them feel a little less powerful and a little less sure of their own safety in a group is an instance in which we inch closer to breaking free of the shackles they have held us for the last thousand years."

Rabastan felt the excitement in the room, a low buzzing feeling that made his heart race and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. _Yes_, he thought, he _wanted_ to prove himself to the Dark Lord, wanted to be a part of this, wanted to show that he could indeed help to free them from their chains.

The Dark Lord looked around the room slowly, pausing and focussing on each face in turn, and then his lips turned up again, into a smile that did not reach his eyes.

"Go forth then, my Death Eaters," he said, "and do all you can and more to save your fellow Wizards."


	86. Chapter 86

Bellatrix lingered, and turned away from Rabastan and Rodolphus to lean towards the Dark Lord and speak to him in a hushed voice as the other Death Eaters filtered out of the room. Rabastan found, to his own surprise, that he felt no resentment towards her, especially when Rodolphus stood and indicated for him to leave with him. In fact, he took pride in leaving the meeting with his brother, and held his head high as the door swung shut on Bellatrix and the Dark Lord behind them.

"Do you have the strength for a walk?" Rodolphus asked, not quite looking at him.

"Yes."

"Then walk with me." He took his hand and led him down the stairs and out into the cold street. A very fine snow had begun to fall, lending the drab street a glittering facade. Rabastan shivered involuntarily, and Rodolphus put one warm arm around his shoulders, drawing him close against the heat of his body. The two of them walked slowly down the street, Rabastan leaning against his brother's shoulder, and neither of them spoke for a time. At last, Rodolphus cleared his throat softly.

"He speaks very well," he said thoughtfully.

"He does," Rabastan murmured. "He's right."

"So, have you done it?"

"What?" Rabastan paused and leaned his head back, looking up at his brother. "Have I done what?"

"Killed one."

A terrible shiver ran through Rabastan's body. Perspiration broke across his palms and brow despite the cold, but he managed to say, as carelessly as he could, "Of course I have."

He had half expected Rodolphus to cringe away from him, though why he expected that when Rabastan had killed their own father – surely a much worse crime than putting down a Muggle – he did not know. Far from it, Rodolphus had no reaction whatsoever. He stood still for a long moment, slowly stroking Rabastan's shoulder with his hand, then dropped his arm and leaned back against the rough brick wall of one of the buildings. A streetlamp cast a golden glow touched with snowy glitter over him.

"How did it feel for you?"

Something in the pit of his stomach stirred, and he swallowed hard. He wet his lips with his tongue, shivered, looked away from his brother.

"Good," he said at last, in barely more than a whisper.

"Good?"

"It..." Rabastan ran a hand through his hair, then tucked both hands underneath his arms and stepped back, out of the pool of light. He could feel a hot flush rising on his cheeks, and he did not want his brother to see. "The Dark Lord was with me when I first... and he..." He glanced at Rodolphus and saw colour in his face as well, though it might have only been from the bite of the cold.

"That's what you thought about when you did it?" Rodolphus asked quietly, and when Rabastan nodded, he added, with a twist of disgust in his voice, "Did you think of it when you killed Father as well?"

"No!" The heat in Rabastan's cheeks intensified. "When I- when Father- when I killed Father, I was thinking only of your safety! I did it for you, you know, not for my own- my own _pleasure._"

Rodolphus put both his hands over his eyes and lowered his head. "Oh God, Rab..." he murmured, and then, before Rabastan could say anything, he added, "I _know_. I _know_ you did it for me. _Thank you_."

That caught Rabastan quite entirely off-guard. He had given up on the idea of being thanked – had come to see that Rodolphus did not consider it an act of kindness to have saved him from their father – and now, _now..._

Rodolphus reached out to him and pulled him into the light again. He wrapped his arms around Rabastan's waist, and Rabastan felt his hot breath on his ear.

"I wish I were as brave as you," he whispered. "I wish I could kill like you."

Again, there was a stirring in Rabastan's stomach – a not entirely unpleasant one. He _enjoyed_ being called brave, and he liked the idea of his brother wanting to be like him. Rodolphus's hands slipped down his back, pulling him tight against him.

"You are brave," Rabastan told him. "Braver than me."

"I haven't killed any Muggles like you have. I haven't done anything for the Dark Lord..."

"Just because you haven't _yet_..."

Rodolphus sighed heavily. He tipped his head back so it rested against the wall, and as Rabastan laid kisses against his exposed neck, he whispered, "I do think of it. Of what it would be like to kill someone. A Muggle. It comes so easily to you and Bellatrix..."

"It is easy. Easier than you'd think. Just one little spell." When Rodolphus said nothing, Rabastan pressed, "If you're already brave enough to flaunt the rules about what we should and shouldn't do and take me to bed, or share me with Bellatrix, why don't you think you're brave enough to use the killing curse?"

Rodolphus pulled back and looked at him in disbelief. "By God, Rab... you don't really believe those are the same, do you?"

Rabastan blinked blankly at him and Rodolphus let out a frustrated groan.

"Those things... the things I've done with you, with Bellatrix, even with Mother, they're _wrong_ – and don't try to pretend, Rab, we both know that they _are_ wrong – but they don't _hurt anyone_."

"Killing Muggles doesn't hurt anyone," Rabastan said, quite nonplussed. "We should do it to protect ourselves and our fellow Wizards, like the Dark Lord said."

"I know," he mumbled. "I know, I'm trying to- it just- I mean, they're still..."

Rabastan waited for him to finish, but he never did. He stared up into the dark, into the fine, swirling, shimmering snow, a crease between his brows, then, at long last, he shook his head and lowered his head again. He captured his lips with his, and Rabastan did not press him for any further thoughts. Unlike Bellatrix, he did not find philosophy an aphrodisiac.

Rodolphus ran his hand through his hair, knotted it tightly, hurt his lips with how hard he kissed him. The cold stung Rabastan's hands and he hid them in the folds of his brother's cloak for warmth as much as for intimacy.

"Love you, you know," Rodolphus mumbled. His words slurred against Rabastan's lips, and his fumbling hands worked at the hem of his shirt. Rabastan could feel their hearts pounding in tandem, and his thin body heaved against his brother's powerful one with every touch of his hands.

And then, all of a sudden, a terrible pain gripped Rabastan. His arms seized, and his legs spasmed so terribly that he fell directly onto the pavement, where he lay twitching and winded, feeling the cold seep through his clothing, shuddering even after the pain was gone, and staring up into the halo of golden light from the streetlamp.

He heard his brother shouting, though his ears were still ringing so badly that he could not hear just what he was saying, and then the light was blotted out, and when he blinked, he could see three faces staring down at him.

Rodolphus's, he knew, even when it was only his head in silhouette.

"Rabastan? Are you all right? Rab, are you-"

"He's fine," one of the other figures said dismissively. "It wasn't much–"

"You _cursed my brother!_" Rodolphus interrupted in a shout. "How _dare_ you-"

"Weren't exactly being brotherly, were you?"

Rabastan struggled up to a sitting position and blinked, trying to make out the features of the two other men. One of them was rather large, though he crouched hunched over like a defensive animal. The other one – the one who had spoken – was smaller and rather scrawny, draped in an overlarge black overcoat. His hair was much too long, down to his shoulders, and now that some light was falling on his face, Rabastan could see that one corner of his lips was raised in an almost grotesquely cocky sneer. Rabastan thought he recognized him from the meeting.

"You be _very_ careful what you say!" Rodolphus put one arm around Rabastan's shoulders to support him, and his other strayed to his side, where his wand lay.

The man who had spoken put his hands up in theatrical surrender. He was wearing an assortment of heavy silver-coloured rings, and they caught the light strongly enough to make Rabastan blink. "Oy, watch it! Just mistook you for Muggles is all- didn't think any Death Eaters would be so bleeding _obvious._"

"You're Death Eaters too, then?" Rabastan asked. He felt as if his brain was working very slowly, but he was quite sure that he hadn't seen the larger man in the meeting.

"I am." The smaller one rose to his feet and lounged lazily against the lamppost. "He's not. Should be, but the Dark Lord wouldn't take him, see."

"Why not?"

"Doesn't take half-breeds," the larger growled. He rose up slowly, though he stayed hunched over, and his face remained in shadow. "But just because I can't have the Mark, doesn't mean I can't do my part killing off Muggles and other _filth_." He spat on the ground, dangerously close to Rabastan's hand.

"Half-breed?" Rodolphus's voice shook very slightly. "How do you..."

He raised his head, and the lamplight threw a scarred face into sharp relief.

"You should be glad it's not a full moon."

Rabastan shrunk back against his brother, pulling away from the monster, and he felt Rodolphus reach for his wand again. The other man seemed entirely unimpressed.

"Don't go getting theatrical, Greyback," he said impatiently. "And you two, don't sit there looking like you never saw a werewolf before." He laughed, though Rabastan could see nothing funny at all about that.

"Get it away from us," Rodolphus snarled.

"Careful there, Greyback doesn't take too well to being called 'it'. He's a human too, see. 'Cept when the moon's right, of course."

Rodolphus stood slowly and reached down to help Rabastan to his feet, never taking his eyes off the werewolf. Rabastan wanted to step behind him, let his brother shield him, but he resisted the urge.

"Anyhow, he and I was just planning on doing some of what the Dark Lord was saying. Muggles is crawling around like cockroaches here. Thought we'd do our part. Don't suppose you'd fancy joining us?"

"After you cursed my brother, I think not," Rodolphus spat.

"Just as well," Greyback said, and his voice was low, slow, _dangerous_. "Don't need a couple of fairies slowing us down."

"Oy, now." The other man – who had neglected to introduce himself – smirked at Rodolphus and Rabastan, but shot Greyback a stern look. "The Dark Lord must think they're good for something, else they wouldn't have been at the meeting."

"I'm sure he thinks they're good for plenty."

"How _dare you!_" Rodolphus drew his wand, and Rabastan caught his arm and held it tightly, begging him with his eyes not to bait the animal.

The smirk had dropped from the man's face, and he stepped between Greyback and Rodolphus, reaching for his own wand and eyeing Rodolphus warily.

"We don't want trouble, you know," he said. "We're all on the same side here. Why don't you just go on home if you're not going to join us? We won't go telling anyone about seeing the Lestrange boys going at it against a wall, will we, Greyback?" He didn't look back at the werewolf at all, but glared into Rodolphus's eyes, and Rodolphus glared right back.

"Why should we believe you?" Rabastan piped up, and the man looked at him and raised one eyebrow.

"If I did, you could say you saw me going 'round with a werewolf, couldn't you?" he said, speaking as if he thought Rabastan was very stupid. "That's worse than getting off on your brother, as far as you're lot's concerned. Hell, you could even say you saw me and Greyback at it, if you wanted to."

Rabastan cringed at the thought of a human letting a werewolf touch him, and Greyback growled a quiet, disgusted growl, but by then Rodolphus was turning away. His face was contorted with revulsion.

"Don't you want my name before you go?" the man asked nonchalantly.

"Not particularly," Rodolphus muttered.

He ignored him. "Scabior. Reckon you should know it. We're going to see a lot of each other. It's like I said, we're on the same side. And I know who you are–"

"Yes, how _do_ you know our names? Is the Dark Lord in the habit of sharing information about his Death Eaters with the likes of you?" Rodolphus snapped, though he sounded very little as if he wanted to hear an answer.

"Oh no, he knows them from me," Greyback said, and he grinned a feral grin. His teeth glittered in the streetlamp's light. "I used to know your mother, you see."


	87. Chapter 87

"How badly are you hurt?" was the first thing out of Rodolphus's mouth when the two of them got in the door of the manor. He didn't wait for an answer before peeling off Rabastan's cloak and starting to unbutton his shirt. "I should have killed them for what they did–"

"I'm fine," Rabastan told him, perhaps a little irritably. His back ached, and he must have been covered in scrapes, but he wasn't particularly in the mood for being fussed over. "And the Dark Lord wouldn't have wanted you to kill them. They're on our side, remember."

"The werewolf isn't. And no one in their right mind would care if a werewolf died. I should have killed it instead of putting you at risk..."

Rabastan shuddered and looked down to avoid his brother's eyes. He was horrified by the mere idea of having been so close to such a vicious animal. With the clarity of distance, he could see now exactly how much danger they had been in. It might have pounced on them at any second, ripped their throats out – even if it was not a full moon, he knew full well that werewolves were dangerous. They didn't need the moon in order to be vicious.

Rodolphus cursed under his breath.

"Didn't mean to frighten you..." he mumbled, and put one hand under Rabastan's chin to force him to look back up at him. "It's all right. He didn't touch you."

"Mm."

Rodolphus sighed heavily and put his hand against Rabastan's cheek before stepping back. "You're cold all over, Rab. I'll have the house-elves draw a hot bath."

Rabastan nodded mutely. He allowed the bath to be drawn, allowed Rodolphus to hold him and rub his arms and back to try to warm them until his skin felt prickly and raw, and relaxed against his brother's chest when he slid into the water with him.

"You're a right mess, Rab," Rodolphus whispered, running his fingers down Rabastan's shoulder blade. "You scraped yourself up terribly when you fell."

"I'm fine," Rabastan repeated, though he couldn't manage much conviction. "I wish you wouldn't pet at me all the time."

Rodolphus sighed heavily, and his hand fell away from Rabastan's arm. "Fine." He turned away and laid his head back against the edge of the marble bathtub. "I forget you aren't my baby brother anymore."

"I am-" Rabastan began automatically, but he couldn't get the words out, and he didn't try to force them. He just sighed and didn't protest when Rodolphus started prodding at the abrasions again. His brother's presence, the press of his body against his beneath the warm water, the sound of his breathing so close to his ear, all of it was soothing in its way, even if Rabastan found his worrying tiresome. And, he had to confess to himself, even if he _didn't_ enjoy the endless fuss that was made over his physical state, he enjoyed his brother's attention.

They lay in the bath together, silent, until the water grew tepid, and it was as they were climbing out and pulling on their nightshirts that the front door banged open and quick, sharp footsteps that could only be Bellatrix's came running up the stairs.

Rabastan was in no hurry to see her, but Rodolphus was out of the bathroom in an instant, and he had no excuse not to follow.

She was already in the bedroom, sitting at the looking-glass and brushing out her hair, and she did not look at Rodolphus and Rabastan as they came in.

"The Dark Lord didn't keep you for long, did he?" Rabastan asked. It was the first thing that came to mind.

"He knew I was eager to come home to the two of you," Bellatrix said, and her slightly hunched posture belied her cool, sarcastic tone. "I shouldn't have bothered. He would have kept me all night if I had wanted." She hesitated for a moment, then turned around and looked at them. "What's the matter with your hands?"

Rabastan glanced down at his palms, scraped from the pavement, but it was Rodolphus who answered, and his voice shook with barely-suppressed emotion.

"We had a run-in outside. In the street. A man cursed Rabastan, and with him, there was a- a-"

Bellatrix raised an eyebrow expectantly, but it seemed as if the word was too disgusting to Rodolphus for him to even say it, and so Rabastan finished the sentence for him.

"A _werewolf_."

"Really?" Now Bellatrix looked interested. She set down her hairbrush and leaned back against her dressing table, reclining on her elbows. "A werewolf? What did you do with it?"

"Nothing," Rodolphus said. His mouth twisted grotesquely. "Should have..."

"The man was a Death Eater," Rabastan told her. "And he said that the werewolf supported the Dark Lord as well."

"Why would a werewolf support the Dark Lord?"

"Something about getting rid of filth," muttered Rodolphus. "As if any filth is worse than those half-breed–"

"You didn't happen to get a name, did you?"

"Scabior, he said."

"The werewolf?"

"The wizard. Why would we have asked for a werewolf's name?"

"The werewolf was called Greyback," Rabastan put in, and Bellatrix's lips curved into a knowing smirk.

"Oh, _him_."

"You know him?" Rodolphus demanded. Bellatrix snorted and waved one hand, waving away suggestions that she might be acquainted with a werewolf.

"I know _of_ him. But I would have thought he and Rabastan might get on rather well – he likes little boys, you see..."

Rabastan's blood ran cold.

"I'd never let it touch him!" Rodolphus's voice rose to a shout, and Bellatrix did not even flinch.

"Of course you wouldn't. Just as you wouldn't let your mother touch him. Just as you wouldn't let _me_ touch him."

Rodolphus's face turned a deep, splotchy red. Rabastan too felt his cheeks go hot, and he shrunk back away from the two of them, burning with mortification. The thought of being touched by a werewolf was horrifying enough, and then to have Bellatrix equate that not only with what Maria had tried with him, but also with what he had done with Bellatrix herself...

"You know full well that those are completely different," Rodolphus hissed through his teeth. "There's a world of difference between Rabastan coming to bed with us, and an _animal_ having its way with him."

"And what would you do to stop him if you couldn't even bring yourself to fight him off tonight?" Bellatrix tossed her head, a nasty, cocky smirk on her face. "Come off it, Rodolphus. We all know full well that you'd just stand back and whimper and cringe and let the werewolf do what it wanted, you _coward–_"

"Stop it!" Rabastan interrupted. His stomach was churning and twisting horribly with every word that Bellatrix said, the image that she was describing made him want to vomit or cry or both, and a throbbing headache was building in his temples. He pressed his hands over his eyes, digging in until stars popped behind them.

"He needs rest!" Rodolphus said sharply, which did not help the headache. "_Rest_, not you going on about the werewolf and what you think I'd let it do to him!"

Bellatrix snorted softly and stood up. "Of course. And I presume you're going to want him to sleep in our bed, instead of sending him off to another bedroom – or to his own home, where he belongs..."

"You're damn right." Rodolphus's face was still very flushed, but he had drawn himself up taller and didn't look quite so stricken as he had before. "He deserves it more than you."

Rabastan collapsed onto the bed with a quiet groan. He didn't want to hear their arguing, especially not in the state he was in. He wished he could order Bellatrix away, but he had no authority over her in their home, and all the orders in the world wouldn't have made her leave. Instead, he buried his head in the pillows and tried to empty his mind and ignore the argument taking place beside him, now in harsh whispers.


	88. Chapter 88

Rabastan was jolted awake by the sound of a door slamming, near at hand. He jerked upright, hurriedly rubbing away the blur of sleep from his eyes, and saw Rodolphus standing in the doorway, fully dressed, with dark circles beneath his eyes and snow melting in his hair. The sky outside was still dark.

"What time is it?" Rabastan mumbled. His throat felt dry, and the words came out hoarsely. He swallowed a few times.

"Early," Rodolphus told him quietly. "Go back to sleep, Rab."

"No..." He rubbed his eyes again, then pulled himself up a little further and rested back against the pillows. "Were you out somewhere?"

Rodolphus looked away, stared out the window rather than meeting Rabastan's eyes.

"Visiting Mother."

"_Why_?"

"My inheritance," he said, in a voice far too cool and nonchalant to be honest. "And yours. I thought you would appreciate my taking care of it for you."

"You went to talk to her about your inheritance before dawn?"

Rodolphus hesitated, and Rabastan seethed. "You went to bed with her, didn't you?"

"No, I didn't."

"I don't believe you!" There was a time when tears might have stung Rabastan's eyes, but now he felt no hurt, no sadness on his brother's behalf, only red-hot anger. "How can you even _look_ at her? Why don't you hate her?"

"She's our mother, Rab," Rodolphus said, but he lacked conviction.

"And that means she's not worth hating? What about Father? Wasn't he worth hating either?"

Rodolphus pressed his lips into a very thin line. "Drop it, Rabastan!"

"Make me!"

"You're being childish."

"You still want her!"

"Mother doesn't want me!" Rodolphus's voice rose in pitch, and he paused and clenched his hands into fists. "It doesn't matter what I want, because she only ever wanted me to give her another son, as you very well know. And if this is how you're going to talk to me about her, then we are _not_ going to speak about her anymore, not now, not _ever!_"

Rabastan closed his mouth tightly and glared at Rodolphus, who looked away, took a few deep breaths, then looked back, his face deliberately smooth and free of emotion. When he spoke, he sounded quite placid. "Did you sleep well?"

"Fine," Rabastan grumbled.

"Don't sulk, Rab, please."

"I'm not sulking."

"For the love of–" Rodolphus broke off, squeezed his eyes shut, then sighed heavily and sank onto the bed. Rabastan scowled at him, but did not twist away as he examined last night's bruises.

"Do they still hurt?"

"I'm fine."

Rodolphus's hand brushed against Rabastan's neck, and he paused and held it there. "You're warm."

"I told you, I'm fine. Your hands are cold." Rodolphus's hands didn't feel cold at all, but Rabastan dared not say so.

"You're feverish."

"I'm not."

Rodolphus swore and sat up. "You are. I'll send for a healer."

"I'm _fine!_" Rabastan raised his voice, and immediately regretted it, for the strain sent him into a fit of coughing. He hadn't experienced one so severe for days, not since the Dark Lord had healed the bruises Andromeda had left on him. Rodolphus was already standing and making for the door, and Rabastan did not have the will to try to stop him, however distasteful he found the thought of being prodded at by a healer for hours only to be told for the six thousandth time in his life that he was probably going to die.

"You aren't, as you well know." Rodolphus stood and shook his head. "It's no surprise, with the strain of the last few days – and last night, out in the cold..." He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but stopped himself and shook his head, and was out of the door before Rabastan could make any more useless protestations.

He fell back against the pillows and tried to force himself back to sleep. It didn't work. He was seething with frustration, and could only toss and turn and glared up at the ceiling. Healers wouldn't tell him anything that he didn't already know: that he was weak, his heart didn't beat in anything like a steady rhythm, that his lungs were full of holes, that he was going to drop dead at any second. That there was nothing they could do, that the illnesses were too much in his blood to be dealt with. No matter; that sort of prediction of death had stopped being frightening to him a long time ago.

From downstairs, a door slammed, and he heard Bellatrix's raised voice, muffled by the door. She was screaming, he could tell, but he couldn't make out what she was saying.

The voice that responded to her was high and fluttering, indistinct, and Rabastan sat up, suddenly interested. He had thought that she was arguing with Rodolphus, but that was certainly not Rodolphus's voice.

He stood and opened the door, straining his ears to try to pick out words. Bellatrix was shouting again, and everything was coming out slurred and much too quickly for him to hear it properly.

Rabastan dressed in a hurry – didn't even bother to button his shirt – and slipped out into the hallway and towards the stairs. Standing just around the corner from the top, he could hear Bellatrix's voice clearly.

"–_My_ concern, and none of yours, Mother! How you can be so concerned with what I might be doing with the Dark Lord when Andromeda's gone and run off with a Mudblood–"

"I refuse to believe that she has done any such thing!" Rabastan had not recognized the voice before, but now he knew it well. He had never heard Druella Black shout like that before, but the voice was unmistakably hers. In anger, she sounded more like Bellatrix than he would have expected.

"You can believe whatever you want! It won't change what's true!"

"If it is true, then she has forfeited any right she has to a place on our family tree, and so I will not waste my time trying to correct her. _You_, on the other hand! You are as much a part of the family as ever, and so you _will_ behave in a way that reflects the legacy of the Black–"

"The _legacy of the Black family_?" Bellatrix shouted. Rabastan winced. She sounded dangerous. "Have you looked at our family history lately? I couldn't be more in keeping with the legacy of the Black family if I tried! Who in our family _hasn't_ fucked half a dozen people besides their own husband or wife? You ought to just be happy that I'm bedding someone whose every action serves to support and protect our bloodline! I would think that's something that all those generations of Blacks would approve of!"

"You know _nothing_ about the Dark Lord!" Druella's tone was caustic, and Bellatrix let out a shriek that was half laughter and half wordless rage.

"I know _everything_ about him! What, Mother, what do you think you know of him that I do not?"

"I know that he is a–"

"_What is this_?" Rodolphus's raised voice cut across both women, and Rabastan looked out quickly from behind the corner. Rodolphus was standing in the doorway, and Bellatrix and Druella frozen and looking at him from just inside. Druella was wearing a cloak, and Bellatrix's own cloak was cast carelessly over the back of a chair.

Rodolphus looked past both of them and up at Rabastan, who stood mutely at the top of the stairs.

"Rabastan," he said, in a tightly measured voice, "is ill, and here _you_ are, screaming at each other, disturbing his rest–"

"Oh, when is Rabastan _not_ ill?" Druella snorted, and Rabastan reeled slightly. Druella had never directly insulted him before. Everything she had ever said to him had seemed to contain a veiled jab, yes, but she had never been so _blunt_ about it, and, in any case, he had always suspected that her insults were more for Maria's benefit than his.

"You aren't wanted here, Mother!" Bellatrix shot back. "You cannot just come into our home, disturbing our guest–"

"Oh, don't try to pretend that you care about that _boy's_ health!"

"And accusing me of–"

"Are you really going to say it before your own husband?" Druella lowered her voice and lifted her chin, taunting Bellatrix. "Going to confess it?"

"Rodolphus already knows." Bellatrix raised her own chin defiantly, and the corner of her lip lifted into a sneer. "Why should he be unwilling to share me? It only means that he has a greater opportunity to bed Rabastan."

Rodolphus blanched. Druella's mouth hung open for a moment, then she closed it and let out a soft noise like a satisfied cat.

"So that _is_ true, then. The Lestranges really do have it in their blood, don't they? It will be a pleasure to be the one to confirm everyone's suspicions about them."

"Say a word about them, and I shall tell every soul I know about you and Abraxas Malfoy," Bellatrix said, but Druella only smiled and raised the hood of her cloak again.

"Tell them, then," she said airily. "It is hardly as severe a scandal. Unlike Rabastan to Rodolphus, Abraxas is no relation of mine, and unlike your Dark Lord, he is not a half-blood."


	89. Chapter 89

Rabastan's vision blurred around the edges, and before he even knew what he was doing, he was down the stairs and his palm connected with Druella's cheek.

"How _dare you!_" She struck him right back, and her wedding ring tore at his cheek, but he barely felt the pain, so enraged was he by what she had said.

"How dare _you_ call the Dark Lord- how _dare you–_"

"Get out," Bellatrix hissed, and physically tore her mother away from Rabastan and pushed her towards the door. "You aren't wanted here."

Druella slapped her hand away and glared defiantly at her, then turned on her heel and swept out, pushing Rodolphus out of her way as she went.

"_Bellatrix!_" Rabastan never thought that he would have been so outraged at Bellatrix for simply saying nothing. "She- she called- how can you just _let her go_?"

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. "You are so _theatrical_, Rabastan. Should you not be more concerned that she knows about you and your dear brother?"

"There's not a soul in the country who doesn't know about us by now," Rodolphus muttered. Bellatrix and Rabastan ignored him.

"That is different! That is _true!_" Rabastan fumed. "But to say that the Dark Lord is- is a half-blood – that is slander, and I shall not stand for it, and you should not either!"

Bellatrix blinked at him, then let out a long, low sigh through pursed lips.

"You really don't know, do you?"

"Know what?" Rabastan's stomach tightened uncomfortably.

"About the Dark Lord. I'd have thought he would have told you, Rabastan. You were so sweet on him. My God, you really don't know anything about him, do you? Were you ever _really_ his lover?" She didn't give him a chance to defend himself, and he wasn't sure what he would have said if she had. "Of _course_ he's a half-blood. He doesn't exactly go around advertising it, but I really would have thought that he fancied _you_ enough to tell you."

Rabastan's face burned. "If I had known–"

"What if you had known?" Bellatrix arched an eyebrow. "Wouldn't you have gone to bed with him if you had known? Are you ashamed to think you bedded someone whose blood is less than pure?"

"I- I might–"

"Be careful what you say, Rabastan, darling. If the Dark Lord learns that you think so little of him now that you know of his blood, he might decide that your loyalty is lacking, and you know that he has no use for Death Eaters with weak senses of loyalty."

"I would have thought that _you–_"

"What?" Bellatrix's voice went low and dangerous, and she narrowed her eyes. "Did you think that I would desert the Dark Lord?"

"If he is a half-blood, he is what we are fighting against!"

"No!" Bellatrix grabbed Rabastan by his chin and jerked him forward so their noses were mere inches apart. "No, he is not what we are fighting against, you _stupid_ boy. We are fighting Mudbloods and Muggles. The Dark Lord has done what anyone in his place should do – he killed his filthy Muggle father, and when he was only sixteen years old! And in doing, I say he has purged himself! Whatever filth may have been in his blood when he was born, he has cleansed himself of it!"

She broke off and drew in a deep, shuddering breath. There was a wildness about her that made Rabastan want to draw back, though he did not – he was far too proud to let Bellatrix know how she intimidated him.

"You should be careful, Rabastan," she said, more softly, and let her hand fall from his jaw. "I will not tell the Dark Lord of how your loyalty wavered, but consider yourself lucky that I do not."

"I do not see how I could be blamed for letting my loyalty waver when I learned that the Dark Lord is of Muggle stock!" Rabastan would not have pressed the point – after all, Bellatrix was right to say that half-bloods were not their enemy – but her superiority on the subject made him seethe. How did she _dare_ to act as if she held his reputation in the palm of her hand?

"Fine, then I _shall_ tell the Dark Lord, and we shall let him decide whether you are to be blamed or not."

"You shall do no such thing, Bellatrix," Rodolphus said sharply. "Rabastan is feverish, and cannot be held accountable for what he might say."

"I am not rendered insensible simply because you think my forehead feels warm!" Rabastan protested. Rodolphus ignored him.

"Go back to bed, Rabastan," he said. "And Bellatrix – Bellatrix, I'm _begging _you, _please_, _stop_ confirming suspicions about myself and Rabastan. Clearly it doesn't matter to you if people know for a fact that you're- that you engage in some- that people _know about you_, but I would like to retain some shred of a reputation, and it's more than difficult enough!"

"You should have thought of that before going to bed with your mother," Bellatrix said callously, and Rabastan had to resist the urge to strike her. Rodolphus pressed his mouth into a thin line, and for a brief and wonderful moment, Rabastan actually thought that his brother was going to tell her off as she deserved to be told off, but Rodolphus only said, through gritted teeth,

"What is done is done. I cannot change what Mother and I did."

"Nor can I change that everyone who matters already knows. I don't suspect there's much doubt in anyone's mind after what _Andromeda_ said." She spat the name out contemptuously. "And you hardly did much of a job of denying it. Perhaps you ought to practice not turning into a quiverying mess every time someone brings it up."

"Do you blame me? If you were in my place–"

"If _I were in your place_?" Bellatrix fired up again. "I would never have allowed myself into your place!"

"Wouldn't you?" Rodolphus shot back. "You, with your sense of loyalty? Are you telling me that if the Dark Lord asked you to bear a child for him, you would not do it?"

Bellatrix went white. It took her a moment of sputtering before she hissed, "What– do you feel for your mother as I feel for the Dark Lord?"

"I have the loyalty to family that you have towards the Death Eaters. The difference, of course, being that any good Pureblood _should_ be unquestioningly loyal to his family!"

"Oh!" She let out a high-pitched shriek of laughter. "Oh, _loyalty to your family_, is it? Why do you pretend that, Rodolphus? Do you realize how _bleeding_ obvious you are? We all know that it's not loyalty to your family that drove you into bed with your dear mother – even your father knew–"

"Don't you dare!" Rodolphus shouted. "Don't you _dare!_"

"–That you wanted her, that giving her a baby was just an excuse–"

"Don't you _dare_ say–"

"And there's a bit of you that's proud, isn't there? A bit that's proud to be Mama's darling little boy, and that's why you couldn't stand it when she wanted to cast you aside for Rabastan–"

Rabastan's fist shot out before he knew what was happening, and he struck Bellatrix squarely in the jaw. She reeled and caught her balance quickly by grabbing hold of the door frame, but the shock of being struck silenced her for long enough for Rabastan to snarl, "Don't talk to my brother like that."

Bellatrix's lip twisted. "As if you don't think–"

"_Don't!_" He struck her again, this time with an open hand. She struck him right back without a second's hesitation.

"Get your hands off him!" Rodolphus forced himself between the two of them, pushing Bellatrix away and examining Rabastan's cheek where she had struck. Rabastan could feel the blood rushing to it. Rodolphus rubbed the place gently, then spoke in a low, measured voice.

"Rabastan," he said, "is ill. I won't have you exciting him and making him worse. Go off to your half-blood and leave us alone."

"_My half-blood_?" Bellatrix's eyes went grotesquely wide and her voice came out a strangled gasp. "You are speaking of your _Master_, your _Lord_, the man to whom you pledged your life–"

"_You_ pledged your life to him," Rodolphus said, still in that controlled voice, and he did not look at Bellatrix, nor did he meet Rabastan's eyes. "And perhaps the rest of the Death Eaters did as well. But my loyalty is to the cause before it is to any man, and I will not take orders from a half-blood in the quest for purity. Rabastan." He still did not look at him, but he put his hand on his shoulder, and his tight, hot, _familiar_ grip sent a shiver through Rabastan. "I hope that you aren't so blinded – as Bellatrix is – that you're willing to let our inferior give us orders about how to cleanse _our_ race."


	90. Chapter 90

Rabastan would have liked to protest, but a fit of coughing seized him, and every time he managed to stop for long enough to draw a breath, the air caught at his throat and he started coughing again. Rodolphus sighed, all the fight going out of him at once, and put one arm around Rabastan's shoulders and the other behind his knees, but his arms trembled when he lifted him. Rabastan could not remember a time – not _ever_ – when his brother had struggled to carry him. The thought made his eyes sting and water – or maybe it was just the coughing. He clung to Rodolphus's shoulders and pressed his face into his chest, and tried to forget that Rodolphus had been shouting at him and now couldn't carry him as easily as he'd always been able to before. The smell of Rodolphus's skin, the feel of his shirt on Rabastan's cheek and his arms supporting him were some of Rabastan's oldest memories.

"That's right, go! Go nurse your poor, dear brother!" Bellatrix shouted after them. "What do you think the Dark Lord would do to him if he found out the sort of things you're saying about him?"

"He won't do anything to Rabastan!" Rodolphus fired back. "He hasn't done anything wrong!"

"If the Dark Lord wants to punish you, of _course_ he'll do something to Rabastan! You're damned _easy_, you know, Rodolphus! It doesn't take a genius to notice how you fall apart the second anything happens to your precious little brother! Look at yourself, for God's sake! You really don't care about a damned thing more than you care about that pathetic little boy, do you? Certainly not about our Master's blood status!"

"You know _nothing_ about what matters to me," Rodolphus hissed, and Rabastan could feel his arms trembling. "Why _shouldn't_ I care about my own brother? If I didn't know better, Bellatrix, I'd say that you're jealous, because your sister went running off with a Mudblood."

"You ought to be careful what you say! It's as if you actually _want_ me to get angry enough at you that I'd tell the Dark Lord what you said about his blood status."

"If you've decided that you want to tell him, I know better than to think I'd be able to dissuade you by being sweet to you." His nails dug into Rabastan's leg and he turned away and started up the stairs, carelessly allowing Rabastan's legs to bump against the wall. "It doesn't matter to me. I'll kill him before he gets anywhere near Rabastan if he tries to hurt him."

"Saying things like that will get you both killed!" Bellatrix shrieked, but Rodolphus ignored her and all but ran up the stairs, Rabastan jostling in his arms. Rabastan squeezed his eyes tightly shut and focussed on not choking on his own breath until Rodolphus laid him down in bed. Then he managed to wheeze out, without coughing, "She's right, you know."

"About what? The Dark Lord going after you because I won't stand for letting a half-blood speak for us?"

"Yes, about that!" Rabastan's throat seized, and he muffled a fresh fit of coughing in his hands. He wanted to demand to know whether it mattered to Rodolphus that he was putting his life at risk, but he couldn't make the words come out.

"I meant it when I said I'd kill him if he tries to hurt you!"

"You _won't be able to!_" Rabastan shouted. The effort of shouting tore all the air from his lungs and he writhed on the bed, trying to suck breath back in. "He'll kill you if you try- he'll kill us both! For treachery! We took the mark! We pledged ourselves to him! If you want- to die for that- I can't stop you! But I won't- I will not! I- will- not- die- for- you!"

"You'd die for him, but not for me?" Rodolphus's mouth twisted as if he'd taken a bite of something bitter. "You'd die for a half-blood who thinks he has the right to try to lead a crusade for the purity of _our_ blood – but you wouldn't die for your own brother?"

Rabastan arched off the bed with the force of a fit of coughing, and he felt something hot and wet come up his throat and drip down his lower lip. When he raised his hand to wipe it away, his palm came away smeared with blood.

Rodolphus sighed heavily and wiped at Rabastan's chin, but Rabastan could sense that there was none of the tenderness in the motion that he would have expected. Rodolphus had always been his healer, and he had come to expect the most loving care from him, not that cursory swipe of the hand. It only made Rabastan feel worse, and he pushed Rodolphus's hand away. "Let me be! I'm-" Another mouthful of blood came up, and he spat it over Rodolphus's hand as he tried to choke out _fine_.

"I'll send for a healer!" Rodolphus threatened – or perhaps he said it out of concern, but Rabastan doubted it. His brother knew how he hated healers, and how he doubted their abilities to do anything for him. A healer was a threat, not someone who would be sent for if Rodolphus was really worried.

"You won't!" Rabastan ordered, but all of a sudden there were two Rodolphus's standing before him, and he didn't know which one to speak to. He reached out to bat at them, but his hand went straight through them and connected with what felt like his brother's arm in midair. His fingers had begun to burn and tingle as if he put his hand against a burning log, and licks of pain shot up his arm. The room began to spin around, windows turning into bright blurs, bed tipping from side to side. Rabastan's stomach heaved – he wasn't sure if he vomited or only choked on more of the blood coming up from his lungs. His heartbeat was deafening in his ears, and much too fast, and now his brother had disappeared completely and he couldn't even make his voice out so that he could cry out for him to come back.

He must have passed out, for the spinning room faded into darkness, and the next thing he was aware of was the sensation of being underwater and he heard his mother's voice, muffled, but close.

"Always so sick..." Her voice burbled out into indistinct mumbling. "...die and be done with it."

"Soon." Rodolphus's voice was closer and clearer than Maria's, but it too was blotted out by a rushing sound, like water in Rabastan's ears, but Rodolphus's words came through clearly when he said, "Never wanted a brother anyhow."

Rodolphus and Maria lit up in the dark, and Rabastan could make no sound except a strangled sob as Rodolphus twined his arms around Maria's neck and buried his face in her bosom. She ran her long fingers through his hair and tipped her head back, one eye on Rabastan, red lips turned up into a too-serene smile. Rabastan wanted to scream at them, and he flailed on the bed and kicked and struck out, but he couldn't build up any force. Rodolphus pressed kisses to Maria's breasts, ran his tongue over her flesh and the clinging red silk of her dress, eyes never turning towards the bed. In Rabastan's ear, he heard Andromeda whisper, "You can't grow up in a place like this, with people like them, and not turn out like them."

Her voice was so clear and close in his ear that he whipped around, fully expecting to see her lying beside him, and came face-to-face instead with his father, waxen, eyes rolled back in his head. Rabastan struck at him, another scream trying to rise in his throat, but his hands smacked against a cold, smooth surface, instead of flesh.

Disembodied fingers were prodding at him and he tried to push them away, but his arms had gone heavy and numb and he couldn't make them move to where he felt the sharp fingers. Unfamiliar mumbling voices resonated around him, with tones of concern, but in words that he couldn't make himself understand. His throat closed up, full of something thick and sticky, and then everything faded away into blackness again.

The next thing Rabastan was aware of was being flat on his back with no healers, no mother, no brother, and only the pale outline of the moon through the frosty window to keep complete darkness at bay.


	91. Chapter 91

Rabastan was so soaked in perspiration that it felt as if he was lying in a swamp. He kicked off his blankets - or tried to. His legs were so feeble that they trembled when he tried to use them to push the damp cloth away from him. When he finally managed to disentangle himself, he had to lie limply and pant for breath for several endless minutes afterwards before he stopped shaking from the effort.

He raised his hands and rubbed at his forehead and cheeks. Perspiration dripped off his skin. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so disgusting and unclean, and certainly not the last time he felt so weak.

He managed to roll over and squint out the window. The moon was full and high in a clear, black sky. Wind whistled outside. Skeletal branches rattled against the glass, which was fuzzy with frost. That offered Rabastan some slight relief - he could not have been sick for very long if there was still frost on the windows. He still harboured terrible memories of being young, and having huge swaths of time disappear while he tossed and turned in bed, in the grips of fever dreams. But then, he had always had his brother sitting beside him, and now there was no one.

Or, rather, he thought there was no one until the pale smudge in the corner of the room that he had assumed was a nightshirt draped over a chair moved.

It moved so fast that Rabastan was only aware of a faint white blur, and then the moonlight was blocked out by a bent head and a thin shoulder, and a voice was whispering in his ear. "Are you awake, Rabastan?"

"Nnnn..." He found that his tongue would not quite work, and he had to swallow several times before he managed to whisper, "Narcissa?"

"Yes, it's me." Spider-light and thin fingers caressed his cheek. "You've been sick."

"I know." He brushed her hand away. Her touch felt unnatural. He struggled to sit up and squinted at her until he could make out her pale, pointed face in the moonlight. There were deep hollows around her eyes, and as he watched, she worked her lower lip between her teeth. She perched on the edge of the bed and stared at him with wide, unblinking, fearful eyes.

How anyone could stand to be around Narcissa, he did not know. She made him feel like a danger, like she expected him to kick her or hex her at any second.

"Where's Rodolphus?"

She blinked slowly and shook her head.

Stupid girl. "Where is he?" he repeated, more loudly, though it made his throat feel raw to speak any more loudly than a whisper.

"I'm to help you," Narcissa murmured. "I was to wait until you were well, then help you go to him..."

"You're talking nonsense." As usual, Rabastan added scathingly in his mind. "I want my brother. Bring him to me."

"I can't." Her voice quivered, but she did not shrink back from him as he would have expected her to. "He isn't here."

"I don't care where he is!" Tears began to sting Rabastan's eyes. He didn't want to cry in front of Narcissa, who always looked like she was seconds from tears herself, but he couldn't hold them back. He tried to dash at them with his hands, but his arms felt unbearably heavy. "Get him! Bring him here! I want him now!" He knew that he sounded childish, but he didn't care. He needed Rodolphus to assure him that he was well and alive and that the world had not fallen apart while he was sick. Narcissa offered no such consolation, especially not as she squirmed under his demands for his brother.

"Let me fetch your clothes," she said in a tremulous voice. She slipped off the bed and started for the door. Rabastan wanted to scream at her, and if he could have drawn in enough breath for it, he would have.

"I'm ill! I don't need my clothes, I need my brother!"

"I told you, he's not here." She turned back to him, shrinking slightly against the door. "If you want to see him, I need to bring you to him. I was only meant to do it when you were well- but you're awake, so I suppose that's good enough for..." She raised a hand to her mouth and bit at her fingernails.

"Fine!" Rabastan's voice went tearful. He couldn't help it. "Fine, go get my clothes, then." He was desperate for Rodolphus's presence, his arms around him, his hand running through his hair, his voice quietly assuring him that everything was all right and it always would be, even if that wasn't true. If he had to get dressed and stumble off with Narcissa to wherever he was in order to have that, then he would do it. Privately, though, he raged at Rodolphus, and before he allowed him to hold and comfort him, he was certainly going to demand an explanation as to why Rodolphus had gone off somewhere else when Rabastan was sicker than he had been in years. Listening to the plea for forgiveness that Rodolphus would surely give would make the comfort even sweeter.

Narcissa returned with shirt, trousers, and travelling cloak folded over her arms, which trembled very slightly under the weight of the cloak. How Rabastan was expected to walk in them if Narcissa - who was in perfect health - couldn't carry them, he didn't know. Of course, Narcissa was as frail as a flower even if she'd never really been sick a day in her life...

He jerked his clothes impatiently from her arms and pulled them on as best he can without having to stand up. His joints creaked slightly from disuse when he bent his elbows or knees. Narcissa fidgeted and avoided looking at him.

"There!" he snapped, when finally he managed to do up every one of the endless, tiny, slippery buttons on his shirt, and get it tucked into the too-wide waist of his trousers. The clothing felt at least two sizes too big for him, and he wondered vaguely how much weight he had lost in his sickness. He was probably skeletal - probably at least as bad as he had been during his last truly severe bout of illness. Probably worse.

"Can you walk alone?" Narcissa asked. She slipped off the bed and stood beside it, fidgeting.

"Of course not," Rabastan told her sulkily. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Didn't she see how he struggled to move? Didn't she realize that, after being bed-bound with a fever, one shouldn't have to immediately go off somewhere else in order to receive the comfort that was owed to him.

"Here." Narcissa held out her hand, and he took it with an exasperated sigh - as if she had the strength to help him. But she gave a firm tug on his arm, and he found himself propelled off the bed and leaning over her shoulders. She was not quite carrying him, but he thought she was likely bearing more of his weight than his own legs were, and yet she, she who had trembled carrying his travelling cloak, seemed not at all troubled by the weight of his body across her shoulders.

She bent her head and did not look at him, but supported him with strength that he would not have expected from her as he held onto her.

Rabastan did not have a chance to ask where they were going before she twisted and the room disappeared from around them. Rabastan had become used to Apparition a long time ago, but doing it this time knocked the air out of him, and long after he felt the ground under his feet again, his vision spun and blurred, and he had to gasp for air.

When at long last the world stilled, he and Narcissa were standing in a narrow, squalid, and very familiar staircase.

"Is this the Dark Lord's...?" he began, but trailed off. Narcissa was shaking her head, and still not looking at him.

"Hush," she whispered, and half-led, half-bore him up the stairs. The door to the Dark Lord's flat was closed, but the handle turned when she touched it, and the door swung in easily.

It was empty. Rabastan had never been here without the Dark Lord before, and it sent a chill down his spine - he knew that the Muggle flat was hardly a fine living arrangement, but without the presence of its owner, it had a distinctly eerie, abandoned air about it. There were no belongings to indicate it was inhabited, but the chairs were pulled away from the table, and cushions strewn on the floor, as they often were when meetings were conducted here.

"Here." Narcissa's voice was thin, nervous and strained, and she led Rabastan across the sitting room and pushed him towards the narrow door of a closet.

"What-" he began impatiently, but Narcissa clapped her hand over his mouth and shook her head, then reached out and pulled the door back.

The room behind it was no closet, and the scene before him was enough to make Rabastan wonder if he was back in his fever dream.


	92. Chapter 92

The room into which Rabastan had stepped had a cold, dank, dungeon-like air that gave him the impression of being underground, though he knew that that could not be. It was not a large room, but the darkness made it seem enormous. It was lit only by flickering candles set on the ground, which cast a very faint glow, just enough to cast shadows. The light from the flat outside briefly illuminated the room, then Narcissa pushed Rabastan forward with unexpected strength, he went sprawling on the stone floor, and the door shut behind him.

"Ah, Rabastan. We have been waiting patiently for you."

The Dark Lord's voice echoed off the walls so that Rabastan could not be sure how close he was or in what direction. He spoke commandingly, as if he was speaking to a group, though as far as Rabastan could tell by listening and by squinting around with watering eyes, there was no group in the room.

"I've been ill, Master," he said. His voice trembled slightly out of exhaustion, though it sounded very like fear. "I am sorry."

"Oh, it is no matter to me, Rabastan. Some concern to your brother, perhaps, but not to me."

"Where is Rodolphus?" Now more than ever, in the cold and darkness, Rabastan wished for his brother's presence.

"Go to him, Rodolphus," the Dark Lord said, and Rabastan's heart leapt. Out of the shadows, he saw a figure rise up, and for a second, he was unsure whether it was Rodolphus. The figure seemed thinner than Rabastan had ever known his brother to be, and he trembled and cowered strangely. But he approached, and the candlelight fell across his face, and Rodolphus was unmistakable.

Rabastan stumbled to his feet and held out his arms like a child wanting to be picked up. Rodolphus took two long strides towards him and caught him in his arms. His hands felt very cold against the back of Rabastan's neck.

"Rab." Rodolphus's voice was slightly scratchy and he did not speak above a whisper. "You're well? I was so worried- I wanted to be with you, but- but-"

"Your brother, Rabastan," the Dark Lord said, and Rabastan saw him step forward out of the shadows as well, "has demonstrated a profound lack of loyalty to our cause. He has spoken out, most unwisely, against my leadership. Rodolphus, would you care to repeat to your brother what you have said?" He was standing close now, and Rodolphus cringed away from him.

"I- accused you of being a Mudblood, my Lord," he mumbled.

In the darkness, Rabastan could just barely see the Dark Lord's lips twitch back into a thin snarl. Half a second later, his face relaxed into a neutral expression again.

"Rodolphus has, most nobly, refused to tell me who has put such an idea into his head." He put his fingers lightly on Rodolphus's cheek and turned his head to face him. "His loyalty to the person who shared such slanderous sentiments with him clearly overshadows his loyalty to the cause of blood purity. And, Rabastan..." He looked Rabastan dead in the eye, and Rabastan's blood ran cold. "There is no one who inspires more loyalty in your brother than you do."

Rodolphus stiffened. He pushed Rabastan away and turned on the Dark Lord, rage and terror battling on his face. "It was not Rabastan! He never would say such a thing about you- he never did-"

"You have shown yourself to be dishonest, Rodolphus," the Dark Lord said calmly. "Why should I now believe that you are not simply continuing to attempt to protect your brother? I know you, Rodolphus, for you have not always been so intent upon blocking your mind from me. I know how dearly you adore your brother, and to what ends you would go to protect him... even so far as to lie to your master."

"You are not my master," Rodolphus spat.

The Dark Lord's hand shot out and he grabbed Rodolphus by his wrist and jerked his arm into the air. The candlelight illuminated his Dark Mark from below, and the black skull glittered against his skin. "I became your master when you took this mark. You forget your vows far too easily." He drew his wand and touched it to Rodolphus's throat. "And you are both careless and foolhardy to continue your defiance, especially with your brother standing here..." He moved his wand slowly away from Rodolphus's throat, and Rabastan felt another terrible chill when it touched his own. "If you care at all for your brother's safety, you will cooperate."

"Rodolphus!" Rabastan shivered and shrunk back, though he dared not try to run. "Tell him!"

"Don't," Rodolphus whispered. "Please, you mustn't. Rabastan has done nothing to you- he has never spoken a word against you-"

"You give me no reason to believe you." The Dark Lord wove his fingers through Rabastan's hair - matted from lying in his sickbed - and jerked his head back. Rabastan stared up into the darkness above him, far too afraid to move, to protest, even to breathe. The wand traced up and down the length of his windpipe.

"He is loyal to you!"

"Is he?" He pressed the wand sharply into Rabastan's flesh, and whispered, "Crucio."

The pain made Rabastan crumple immediately. His body was so seized by pain that he could not support himself for even a moment. He fell into Rodolphus's arms, and Rodolphus clung to him, even as his limbs twitched and spasmed violently and agony washed over him.

"Has he been loyal, Rodolphus?" the Dark Lord asked, and his voice was hard and cold. "Does he not deserve his punishments? Crucio." Rabastan's back arched and he could not control his limbs striking at the air as if to strike away the pain. He thought certainly he was going to die. His body could not possibly withstand this torture.

"No! No, he doesn't!"

"Then tell me who does deserve them."

"Bellatrix!" Rabastan gasped out, and the curse lifted immediately.

"What was that, Rabastan?" the Dark Lord asked, but by his tone, he was asking not because he was unsure of what he had heard, but with the satisfaction of one who had just heard what they wanted to hear.

Rabastan did not care about his motives.

"It was Bellatrix!" he repeated. "She was the one who told us- she was the one who said-" He didn't want to repeat it for fear of another curse, and wished that Rodolphus would finish the sentence for him, but Rodolphus was silent. "She said your blood wasn't pure, Master."

"Bellatrix," the Dark Lord repeated. He spoke her name slowly, rolling it around his mouth, tasting it. Rabastan shuddered and clung all the more tightly to his brother. "Ah, dear. She had been so intent upon insisting herself to be my most faithful - but pride comes before a fall."

"She didn't-" Rodolphus began, and Rabastan wanted to scream at him to shut his mouth, but the Dark Lord beat him to that.

"There is no cause to lie, Rodolphus. You have displayed poor faith, and failed to save the honour of your wife; you will achieve nothing now by insisting upon her innocence. And yet you should consider yourself lucky. Your brother's moment of honesty has saved your life."

Rabastan felt sick to his stomach. He didn't want his brother's life to rest on him. He could bear to be responsible for his safety, his reputation, but not his life. That was too much responsibility for him to hold. He was not strong enough or brave enough to manage that.

"Go, Rodolphus, Rabastan," the Dark Lord said, and he stepped back. "There shall be no need for you to witness Bellatrix's punishment."

"What are you going to do to her?" Rodolphus demanded, and though his voice shook, as did his body as he tried to support Rabastan, there was fire in his voice. Rabastan did not know how his brother could be so unremittingly, foolishly brave in this instance. He, Rabastan, felt as if he would fall to pieces if he tried to say another word. Tears were leaking down his cheeks and he did not even have the strength to raise his hands and brush them away.

"Only administer the punishment that is deserved for libel against her master. Narcissa," he said, and Rabastan twisted around and saw Narcissa standing, pressed against the door, where she had been watching in silence. He had not even realized that she had entered the room. "Fetch your sister to me."

"Yes, Sir," Narcissa whispered, and there was stark fear in her voice and on her face.

"And, Rodolphus," the Dark Lord continued, and Rabastan had never known his tone to be more cajolingly pleasant, "take your brother home and to bed. He does not seem at all well."


End file.
